DI Genevieve Lestrade meets the Holmes brothers
by RavennaPoe
Summary: DI G.Lestrade, in this fic, is a woman! What happens when she meets genius Sherlock Holmes and later his brother, the British Government? What changes in their lives will occur as time goes by? Please review.
1. A Beautiful Friendship

CHAPTER 1: A Beautiful Friendship

February 2009

The rain drops tapped at the window. DI Genevieve Lestrade loved the rain. She loved walking in the rain and she almost never used an umbrella. Everything seemed a lot better with raindrops on your eye lashes! She liked the cold smell of the rain, of the wet grass… While watching her reflection in the window of her office at the New Scotland Yard, she recalled a little poem that her sister e-mailed her a few hours ago. _**Everybody wants happiness, nobody wants pain, but you cannot have a rainbow, without a little rain!**_ She smiled melancholically.

Today her divorce has been finalized. After eight years her marriage was over. She couldn't say that she wasn't expecting it, or that she was devastated.

Her husband was cheating on her repeatedly, something that she knew from the beginning. She loved him but not with passion, more likely because they had been a couple since the age of twenty four. She loved him because after ten years, it had become a routine. And now at the age of thirty-four she was on her own. She felt disappointed. She had given herself completely to that man, she trusted him and helped him and in return he betrayed her in such a way. But no matter! She would be just fine. She had a job she loved, friends that supported her and a mother, who was yelling at her over the phone for not giving Claude a second chance.

''_You are being unreasonable, Genevieve. Just because he did it once doesn't mean that he doesn't love or care about you!''_

''_Mother, it wasn't just once! It happened ten times! I'm sick of being his little stupid housewife! I'm a Detective Inspector damn it! I've arrested murderers and drug dealers! I'm not going to accept my husband's easy virtue any longer!''_

''_Mon Dieu! First your sister and now you! This is your father's fault! His and those ideas that he planted in both of your minds! That you will always be able to do things on your own, without a husband and someone to take care of you!''_

''_You should be proud of me, Sophie and the way we cope! Goodbye mother, I'm going back to bed!''_

That phone call occurred yesterday morning at 6 o'clock. Jenny loved her mother with all her heart. But sometimes she was so narrow-minded! She didn't blame her though. She wanted what was best for her daughters.

But she wasn't going give the man who trampled on her pride a second chance.

''Anyway, it could be worse.'', Jenny thought and sighed, ''At least I'm not like this guy''. She turned her head and examined the man who was sitting in her office chair, with her brown eyes.

He was four, maybe five years younger than her and high as a kite. He was extremely pale, with dark circles under his eyes and his dark brown hair were messy and wet from the rain. She had seen junkies before and every time she thought the same thing. ''Why?''

''Why kids do that to themselves? Why do they want to end up dead at a dark alley or on a park bench, with a needle in their arms as their last memory?''

She looked at the man, again. His coat and clothes were expensive and his shoes, although muddy, were Gucci. She herself was not that into brands and expensive wear, that was more of her sister's characteristic, but she could definitely understand that this man was rich.

''So, you do drugs out of sheer boredom or you use them as a form of escapism?'', she said.

The man looked at her with a smug grin.

''Both'', he said in his baritone voice. ''You do know that it was the sister and not the cousin detective? Of course you do! You are smarter than those imbeciles, but not as smart as me. You almost missed the murderer, thank god I was there on time!

''Well, thank god for you that I didn't blame you for the murder as the other officers did. That saved me a hell of a lot paperwork.''

''As I said... imbeciles! And now I can depart. Thanks for the interesting case. It was very stimulating!''

He tried to get up, but his legs couldn't hold him. He fell on the couch with a big thud. Jenny sighed and got up. She opened the small fridge that was placed in the corner of the room and took a bottle of water.

''Drink up! You are extremely dehydrated.''

The man took the bottle obediently and opened it. He drank the water within seconds. Jenny gave him another one and after four bottles of water he looked better than before. He closed his eyes in bliss.

Jenny sat at the chair opposite him and observed. He looked so peaceful like a little baby. ''Oh bugger!'', she thought as her motherly instincts kicked in. She couldn't live him alone, he was going to kill himself the moment he walked out of her office. There was only one option.

''What's your name?'', she said quietly.

''Sherlock Holmes. Age thirty. And before you ask, no I don't have a place to stay. I was kicked out by my landlord because I blew up his kitchen with one of my experiments.'', Sherlock said and laughed quietly.

''What do you do for a living.''

Sherlock opened his eyes and stood up.

''I don't have a job. May I please leave now?''

Jenny looked at him carefully. He was very beautiful. High cheekbones, nice nose, curly hair, pale skin, long neck which had three bruises, more like love bites. ''Probably from one night stand'', she thought. ''If he had a partner he wouldn't be homeless.''

His best feature though was his eyes. They were cat-like and grey or blue? Maybe both, depending on the light.

''You don't have a job, yet your clothes are really expensive. You perform experiments that can blow up a room. You clearly have equipment and a degree in chemistry.''

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes.

''Most of the criminals you arrest can use flammable liquids and they don't have a degree.'', he said.

''Yes, but they don't use words as 'flammable' and 'liquid'. And practically, you've just confirmed my suspicions!

Sherlock curled his lips and Jenny thought he saw a smile on those full lips. He sat again and slowly crossed his arms and legs.

''Go on.'', he said with a lingering voice.

''You are rich. Very rich actually judging by your clothes. They are quite new and your shoes are Gucci. You don't care if they are muddy or torn. If you were a working class man who just bought them with his savings, you wouldn't treat your own item of luxury like that.''

''Very good, Inspector! Please… continue! I love watching your mind work! What else can you deduce about me!'', said in that baritone voice of his while a smirk appeared once again on his face.

He was clearly enjoying the whole situation. Jenny decided not to be intimidated by his sarcastic tone and continued.

''Your name is quite old, Victorian. So I'll take a wild guess and say that your family is old, with history and money. That's pretty much what I can say about you. But what I want is something else. You have a high I.Q. level. You solved the murder in a matter of seconds. My point is that we need people like you. So, I have a proposition to make.''

Sherlock was listening carefully and was intrigued. ''That DI is smarter than I thought...good!'', he thought.

''I am listening.''

''I'm going to talk to my superiors about you and your abilities. If I can manage it, the Yard will hire you, unofficially of course, for your help in difficult cases. We can also give you a salary. But in return you will have to enter a rehab program and stay clean. Understood?''

After a minute of consideration Sherlock smiled and answered positively.

''Good!'', said Lestrade and clapped her hands. ''So Sherlock Holmes my name is Genevieve Lestrade. Call me Jenny. It's easier and I hate the sound of it, when people who can't speak French pronounce it.''

''I speak French fluently, but I prefer to call you Lestrade.''

''Suit yourself. I can provide you with a room at my house for tonight and as long as it takes for you to get clean and find a place to live. What do you think?''

Sherlock's grey eyes met hers and once again he smiled.

''Lestrade, I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!''


	2. A Meeting in Belgravia

**_CHAPTER 2: A Meeting in Belgravia_**

''You are being unreasonable Jen.'', said DCI Fielding.

''No I'm not! The man is a genius! We have to use him! We need him!'', replied Jenny.

''Let me remind you that he contaminated our crime scene four days ago! We almost lost the important evidence that led us to the killer!''

''And let me remind you that if he wasn't there we would have lost the killer! Marian Murdoch would have vanished, if Sherlock didn't contaminate the scene, as you say! Gregory, please. You are a smart man. You know that we need all the help we can get. Crime never rests and we are getting tired every day. I'm not saying we are incapable, I'm just saying that Sherlock has a brilliant mind and we should use it.''

''Jen he's a drug addict!''

''He's doing really well! He doesn't need any drugs know that he has something to occupy his mind with. I'm also going to supervise him and since he lives at my house...''

''He lives with you!'', asked the DCI with surprise.

''Yeah, what's the problem with that?'', said Jenny arching her brow.

''Erm nothing, I'm just... are you dating him?''

''Of course not! He's staying at the guest room in my house until he finds a place of his own! I'm not into dating at this moment anyway.''

''So... so you wouldn't want to come down at the pub with me to have... you know... a beer perhaps? Later I mean!'', he said and ruffled his hair awkwardly. Jenny didn't seem to notice it.

''I don't like beer.'', she replied nonchalantly. ''So, what do you think?''

Fielding took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sat back at his chair and looked at Jenny. ''What do you propose?'', he said finally.

''Let him be a member of my team. I'll supervise him and call him only in difficult cases. And I believe a salary would be nice!''

''Fine! But you will not bring him to a crime scene, unless he's sober as a judge! You will be fully responsible for him and if something happens you'll be the one to suffer the consequences!''

''Deal! Thanks for your time Greg!'', she said in a gleeful tone and left his office. She climbed down the stairs and reached her floor. When Sally Donovan, her Sergeant, saw her she got up from her chair and followed her in her office, closing the door.

''So how did it go?'', asked Sally eagerly, sitting on the edge of Jenny's desk.

''Good! Very good! When Sherlock sobers up, he'll be able to help us. Thank God I convinced him!'', she said, as she took some papers out of a file and sat at her chair.

''As if Chief was going to deny you anything! He totally fancies you!''

''What? What are you talking about?'', said Jenny and raised her eyes to look at her.

''Oh come on! As if you haven't seen it! Every time you step into his office or he comes around, he looks at you like he's ready to fall down on his knees and propose! The whole Yard knows it'', she said and laughed at the expression on Jenny's face.

''Sally please! Don't say those things in here! You know how people talk!'', she cried.

''You are an attractive, sexy woman. Of course there will be gossips, but there is no need to hide or being embarrassed about it!''

Truth to be told Jenny was indeed attractive. She was considered tall for a woman, about 5'9'', with curves, light olive skin tone, dark brown wavy hair, brown eyebrows, relatively full lips and chocolate eyes. Maybe her eyes and lips were her best feature.

''Thanks for the compliments dearest Sally! Now, of you go! You have work to do!'', she said and made a vague movement with her hand.

''Alright I'm leaving! Maybe we can go to a pub later and give you lessons on how to woo the DCI!''

''Out!'', said Jenny and showed her the door. Sally giggled and left her office. Jenny shook her head and turned on her laptop. ''Greg likes me? Have I been so blind? He's kind of cute though. Definitely charming! He has a nice accent and he looks like George Clooney now that his hair has gone gray. Pull yourself together Jenny, you cannot possible be thinking about your DCI!'', she thought and sighed once more, as she started typing some reports at her laptop.

The hours passed and before she knew, it was 6 o'clock in the evening. Seven straight hours of paperwork without any coffee! That was a new record for her! She stood up and stretched her back. She then rubbed her eyes and yawned, realizing that she needed a warm cup of cappuccino and maybe some scones with it. She grabbed her wallet, her mobile phone and coat and decided to pop up to a cafe near the Yard and have her break there.

The sky was cloudy the moment she left the Yard. It seemed that it would be yet another rainy day, but she didn't mind. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and sent a quick text to Sherlock.

_-Congratulations! You are now an official member of DI Lestrade's team! I hope my house is not on fire! GL_

_-Good. No it isn't. SH_

As she walked a few meters she noticed a black car approaching her. She didn't pay attention and continued. But then the car stopped next to her and a woman excited. The stranger stood in front of her, blocking the way. She was holding a Blackberry and didn't bother to look at Jenny, since her face was glued on the phone's screen.

''May I help you?'', Jenny said suspiciously.

''DI Lestrade please get in the car.''

Her tone although polite was firm and made her realize that there was no other option than to follow her. Still... she wasn't going to give up so easily.

''No...Goodbye!''

As she walked past her, two tall and muscular men dressed in suits appeared in front of her.

''It is best if you follow us without incident.'', said the woman from behind. Jenny sighed and mentally cursed that she didn't have her gun. She got inside the car and was followed by the woman, who gracefully placed herself at the opposite seats.

As the car drove, Jenny let out a breath. The woman was still tapping at her phone, which made Jenny slightly anxious and irritated.

_-We are on our way. A_

_-Excellent! MH_

* * *

''Is there a point in asking where are you taking me?''

''No.'', said the woman with a smile. ''But you will find out soon.''

''OK.'', replied Jenny since she realized that this woman wasn't going to tell her a thing. ''At least we're still in London!'', she thought as she watched the people moving, shopping and interacting with each other. It was now raining and the sky was darker than before.

''Who could the abductor be? Clearly not that woman, she's merely a messenger. Is he a man or a woman? Who knows? Someone I've put in jail? It could be. Well, there is only one way to find out and that is to wait.'', thought Jenny. ''What was I thinking when I got inside that car? But I didn't have a choice, did I?''

Lost in her thoughts, Jenny didn't realize that the car finally came to a halt in front of a large building.

''We have arrived.'', said the woman and a man with an umbrella opened the door for her. Jenny followed her and only then realized where they were.

''Oh. My. God!'', she thought. They were standing in front of a large white stucco house in the district of Belgravia. Jenny had been here only once in her life and that was two years ago, when she was undercover in the Austrian Embassy investigating the murder of a French banker who was involved in illegal adoptions. She took a quick glance around and saw that the street was quiet, except for some people with umbrellas who were walking hastily.

''Inspector please follow me.'', said the woman who was already at the door of the building. Jenny walked up the stairs and followed her inside the building, which turned out to be an office. Many employees were at their desks typing quickly and talking to the phone. Jenny tried to listen to them in order to understand the nature of the abductor or maybe hear his name. Unfortunately, most of the people around where speaking in German, Spanish, Italian and pretty much every language except for English and French, which Jenny understood. She obediently followed the woman at the end of the room and got inside the elevator. The woman pressed the button to the fourth floor and turned her attention to her precious cell phone once again.

''Aren't you tired with that thing all day?'', asked Jenny, who was pretty annoyed by the constant tapping.

''That's my job, Inspector.'', she merely replied. There was a soft bell sound and the doors opened.

''Go on.'', she said. ''He will be with you in a minute.''

''So he's a man.'', thought Jenny as she walked inside the room. ''Wait...'', she said, but the doors of the elevator closed before she could ask a thing. She quickly pushed the button but nothing happened. She pushed it once more and saw nothing, not even an indication that the lift was going done or up. ''Fuck!'', she cursed ''They must have locked it!''

She was now feeling anxious and a little frightened. She wasn't afraid before, not even when she walked inside the building, but now the thought of confining with a stranger in a room brought chills down her spine. She took her coat of, since the room was warm enough, and placed it in the back of the couch that was near the windows. She hugged herself and sighed. The warmth of her body combined with that of her dark red cashmere jumper was quite soothing. She looked outside the window and saw the street. ''Bloody hell who is that man?'', she thought and took a look around the room.

It was mostly covered in wood and there were lamps on the walls, producing a soft light. Two big windows covered the wall which faced the street. There was also a big fireplace and in front of that a dark brown mahogany desk. She quickly examined it but there were no pictures or anything that could reveal the identity of the person.

Her attention was caught by the bookcases. If there was a clue, maybe she could find it in those books. Most of them were about politics, science, chemistry and philosophy and the majority of them were in Latin and German. She tried to picture what kind of man was her mysterious abductor. ''Quite educated considering those books.'', she thought. She could also see some literature books, mostly British and also a copy of Victor Hugo's, Les Miserables.

''Very old judging by the cover. So the man speaks Latin, German and French. Also, that office is located in one of the wealthiest districts in the world and the employees are polyglots. Could he be a politician? A businessman? Oh, where is Sherlock when you need him!''

She suddenly felt a presence and turned abruptly. The man was standing just a meter away from her. He was tall and lean and dressed impeccably. He was wearing a grey three piece suit with a red striped tie and his hands were placed inside his pockets. He had auburn hair, sharp nose and piercing blue eyes. He smiled at her revealing his pearly teeth.

''Nice collection, isn't it?'', he said in a mellow voice.

''Who are you?'', asked Jenny calmly, trying to hide her anxiety.

''All in good time Inspector. Now...'', he said and went to sit at his office chair. ''Please sit down. Our meeting is going to be fairly long, I wouldn't want you to get tired.''

Jenny reluctantly sat at the opposite chair and looked the man, who was still smiling.

''Tell me Inspector, what is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?'', he finally said.

Jenny was surprised, but tried not to show it. ''If you don't tell me who you are, I'm not going to answer any of your questions.'', she said in a neutral tone.

''Oh I see! Quid pro quo.''

''Exactly.''

''I have other means of persuasion.'', he said and the smile disappeared from his face. Jenny swallowed, suddenly feeling her throat dry. She didn't flinch though.

''I'm waiting for you to tell me who you are. Use any means you have.'', Jenny said and crossed her arms and legs.

''Very well.'', he said and withdrew a file from the desk drawer. He opened it and read.

''Sophie Lestrade, age thirty five, single mother, works as an editor in the fashion magazine Marie Claire. She lives with her six year old daughter Cecilia in Paris in Rue Montague, number 23, very nice flat.''

He looked from the file and smiled at Jenny, who was now pale. He continued.

''She was married to Francesco Moretti until two years ago. He's an architect who works and lives in Tuscany since the divorce. He visits his daughter twice a month. He also spends the summers with her in Italy. Quite talented man and I dare say, your little niece got her drawing skills from her father. Shall I continue?''

By now the vitality in Jenny's face has been drained. She then saw the smile in the man's face and curled her toes inside her boots in order to ease the urge to jump, pin him against the floor and start beating him until that smirk disappeared from his lips. She merely took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

''What do you want?''

The glee on the man's face was obvious. It seemed that his plan had worked and so he closed the file and placed it back in the drawer. He then brought his elbows to the desk, entangling his fingers and lightly placing his chin above them. His eyes were penetrating and Jenny couldn't bear to meet his gaze. She decided that her shoes were a much more interesting sight.

''I have a proposition to make, Inspector.'', he said.

''What kind of proposition?''

''I'm willing to give you a meaningful sum of money and I want you to provide me with information about Sherlock.''

''No.'', she merely replied without looking at him.

''Why not?''

''Because it's not my policy to accept bribes, I don't need any money and also, I'm not willing to spy on Sherlock.'', she replied coldly. Her gaze was still on the ground, as she felt a lump on her throat chocking her. She knew very well what that man could do to her or her family, but for some reason she couldn't go against her principals. She had never accepted a bribe and never betrayed someone who trusted her. Sherlock trusted her. He didn't consider her a friend, not yet at least, but he wanted to get clean from drugs and start a new life and for that he had chosen Jenny to help him. And she was not willing to betray him.

''I don't know if you're a fool or you don't understand the situation, but let me inform you that what I've just read to you is the tip of the iceberg. I know every little detail of your life. I know which primary school you attended in France before you came to England, I know the name of your first pet, I even know how you drink your coffee.'', he said smugly.

''Great!'', she answered and finally looked at him furiously. ''Keep those information, my answer remains the same.'' The man was oddly quiet. ''I can see why he likes you.'', he said after a while. '' I have to admit, I'm quite fascinated myself!''

Jenny's face twisted in bewilderment. ''I'm sorry, do you find this fascinating?'', she cried.

''Not at all, I'm just pointing out the obvious.''

''Who are you?'', she asked once again. ''I'm tired of playing games! You kidnapped me and threatened me, I believe I deserve to know the reason why!''

''I'm Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's older brother, by seven years.''

Jenny's eyes were now wide with amazement. ''Brother.'', she said, more like vocalized her thoughts.

''Yes. I'm his brother. And the reason I kidnapped you is that I worry about him... constantly.'', he continued with a soft tone in his voice. ''I understand your astonishment, but let me give you an advice about my baby brother. Don't trust him. Save yourself the pain of failure Inspector and choose the right ally.''

He sat back at his chair and observed her. After a few moment, Jenny stood up and faced him. ''I choose Sherlock.'', she simply said. She picked her coat from the couch and approached the elevator.

''Until next time.'', said Mycroft the moment Jenny pressed the button.

''There won't be a next time Mr. Holmes.'', she said without turning to look at him.

''Don't be so sure.'', he replied as she got inside the elevator and took one last look of the man, before the doors closed.

* * *

Jenny was standing outside the building. The street was quiet and dark, only lighted by the street lamps. By now the rain had stopped and everything was drenched. She took a deep breath and let hot tears roll from her eyes. She was holding them back for far too long. She did not cry or sob. There were just quiet tears of fear and anger rolling down her cheeks. The black car pulled in front of her. She quickly wiped her eyes and sniffed. She didn't wait for anyone this time to tell her to get in. Inside she found the woman typing at her phone.

''Where to?'', she said.

''Scotland Yard, please.'', replied Jenny and the car drove off.


	3. Meet the Holmeses

**_CHAPTER 3: Meet the Holmeses_**

_''Until next time.''_

_''There won't be a next time Mr. Holmes.''_

_''Don't be so sure.'' _

* * *

Mycroft stayed true to his word. For the next two weeks after their first meeting he had kidnapped Jenny five times to ask about his brother. Those five encounters happened to some abandoned warehouse or an abandoned theater, which he seemed to find more agreeable. Mycroft being always dramatic, preferred to meet her on the stage sitting in a chair, fiddling with his precious umbrella.

Needless to say, that when Sherlock found out was furious. He hadn't seen his brother for quite a long time, but he knew that it would not take long for him to make his appearance. And he was right, as always.

A month and a half after Sherlock and Jenny had met, Sherlock was able to work for the Yard. They drove down at Hammersmith for a triple homicide. After a fairly long ride they reached the block of flats where the murder took place, this very morning. They took the elevator and went up to the fifth floor. When the doors opened they saw Lestrade's team already searching the place for clues. A man handed them some rubber gloves and they both entered the bedroom. Sherlock seemed excited, like a little kid who went to an amusement park for the first time and didn't know which train ride to choose. It was oddly refreshing to see a happy person there. Everyone was tired and gloomy, except for him.

''What have we got here.'', Jenny asked Sally Donovan.

''Triple homicide. Patrick Brown, age forty. Shot in the head. The women are unidentified. Underage prostitutes, if you ask me. We found the wife covered in his blood with the gun in her hands.''

''Who called?''

''Anonymous tip.''

''Too obvious isn't it!'', said Sherlock suddenly and he startled the Sergeant.

''Sergeant Sally Donovan this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock this is…''

''Sally Donovan, yes.'', Sherlock said and examined Sally from head to toe, especially her knees, which were bruised. Jenny noticed that too and coughed awkwardly.

''Now if you allow me!'', Sherlock said with excitement and ducked over the three bodies. Sally was slightly irritated and Jenny gave her an apologetic look. After a few minutes Sherlock stood up.

''What have you got?'', asked Jenny.

''The man is a science teacher, judging by his three burned fingers. The burn occurred by Sodium hydroxide, also known as caustic soda. The burning occurred approximately one year ago, due to some experiment in class.''

''How do you know he is a teacher? He might as well work at...''

''He has a pack of sheets on the desk at the corner, marked with red ink, so they must be tests.'', replied Jenny before Donovan could finish her sentence.

Sherlock looked at her in appreciation. ''Well done, Detective.'', he replied. ''See, Sergeant, it's not that hard! You should be more careful, like your superior over here.'', continued Sherlock with a smug tone.

Sally turned red and was ready to respond, but Jenny gave her a look that pretty much said: ''We need him, do not insult him!''

''What about the girls, Sherlock'', continued Jenny, ignoring the look that Sally gave her.

''Underage, but not prostitutes, I'd say about sixteen or seventeen years old. Students, from the same school, both teammates, probably cheerleaders, you can see they wear the same bracelet with the team's name. The one aspired to be a writer, judging by the ink stain on her middle finger. She cleans her hands everyday but still the ink is too much she cannot remove it easily. The other one is a natural blonde but she dyed her hair black recently, on her own. You can see that from the amount of light hair she left near the roots behind her ears. The black of her hair made her appear a little older, old enough to enter a bodega and buy alcohol for her and her friend, Gin and wine judging by the smell. They came here intoxicated and the rest is obvious.''

Everybody was stunned and completely wide eyed. Jenny had seen him using his deductive skills, but at that time he was just a raving lunatic. Now he was more like a professional. After a while Sherlock looked at her and waited for her response.

''The gunshot wound, on the right side of their heads, is too precise. If the wife caught them in the act she would have shot them multiple times if you consider the surprise, anger etc. This though is very accurate. I'd say that she drugged them first and then killed them.''

Sherlock grinned. ''Very good Inspector. Yes, indeed. They were drugged maybe with some homemade chemical mix. Valium was the main ingredient. It's the most common drug you can find in a house. We better head back to the Yard and interrogate the wife.'', said Sherlock and with a dramatic swirl left the room. Lestrade barked some orders and so the rest of the team started preparing the bodies and packing up their equipment.

When she got outside the building, she saw a familiar black car parked. Jenny sighed as she watched Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock fighting. She approached the couple.

''You are not allowed to be here.'', she said coldly to Mycroft.

He merely raised an eyebrow. ''We are standing outside the crime scene, so I am. I'm here to see how my brother is doing Inspector, since you refuse to cooperate.''

''What are you doing here Mycroft?'', hissed Sherlock.

''As ever, I'm concerned about you.'', he smiled.

Jenny was looking at them as they kept arguing. Her headache was getting worse by the minute and the voices of the two brothers were not helping. She decided to walk away and wait for Sherlock in her car.

''Lestrade, where are you going?'', asked Sherlock who finally seemed to notice her.

''To my car!'', said Jenny and pointed the small blue car which was parked a few meters away. ''When you're done bickering like a four year old, you can follow me to the Yard!'', she continued in a firm tone. ''Same goes for you! Don't come to my crime scenes again!'', she said to Mycroft.

''I'm sorry if I caused you trouble, Inspector. But I had to see my brother for a family matter.'', he replied smoothly.

''Don't you have a war to start at some country, Mycroft?'', he said and headed for the DI's car.

''He's always been so resentful.'', said Mycroft to Jenny.

''I think he took after someone.'', replied Jenny, staring at him.

''You are not the one to judge me, Inspector.'', he said darkly.

''I speak as I find, Mr. Holmes.''

Mycroft inspected her from head to toe. ''You look tired.'', he said.

''It's my prerogative, isn't it?'', she chuckled. ''I blame Sherlock and his violin at three in the morning.''

Mycroft looked at her seriously. He came close, towering over her. ''Do you regret your decision?''

Jenny stood her ground. ''I never regret.'', she said boldly.

''My offer is still open.''

''There's no need for that. Good day Mr. Holmes.'', she said and walked away.

''I'll be around.'', he said.

''Indeed you will.'', she replied and got inside, driving away from the crime scene and the elder Holmes.

* * *

The light inside the interrogation room was dim. Jenny was looking at the wife, Adele Brown. She was holding her plastic cup with both hands and was looking at the liquid inside. She was looking tired and worn out. Sad and ready to burst into tears. Jenny pitied her. That was her weakness. Too much sympathy. She sighed and sprayed the photos of the crime scene in front of her. Adele winced at the sight of them and closed her eyes.

''Mrs. Brown let's make it easy, shall we? Why did you kill your husband and those girls? It was premeditated, wasn't it?'', said Jenny neutrally.

The woman nodded weakly, the locks of her blonde hair falling in front of her face. She looked at the photos, only to avert her gaze to her cup once more. Something about her behavior was wrong.

* * *

Sherlock was standing outside the room and observed the murderer, as she made her confession. ''School teacher, anxious, biting her nails… something's wrong.'', he said and looked once again as she stirred the tea with the small plastic spoon. And then he saw it. ''Oh!'', he thought and his eyes widened. He stormed inside the room.

''Lestrade get out, I need to talk to you!'', he said eagerly. Jenny furiously got out closing the door.

''Are you out of your mind?'', she cried.

''She isn't the killer!'', he exclaimed and some officers turned their heads and watched them.

''What are you talking about? She confessed every little detail! She even told me how she injected the poison inside the wine bottles!''

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed a plastic cup from an officer ignoring his protests. He then produced a pencil from his pocket and started stirring the drink with it. Jenny raised her eyebrow.

''Do you see it?'', he said with glee.

''Not really.'', replied Jenny confused.

''Come on Inspector you're not that stupid! Look.'', he said and slowly turned the pen in a clockwise motion. Then he did it again, but this time in an anticlockwise motion. Jenny shook her head.

''Sherlock please stop this and tell me what this means?''

''This woman is not Adele Brown!'', he exclaimed.

''What?''

''The gunshot wound was to the right, that woman there is left handed. Although she holds the spoon to her right hand, she stirs her drink in a counterclockwise motion. That means that she is left handed. Even if she was ambidextrous, which I doubt, the precision of the wounds indicates that the murderer was right handed!'', he said.

''Wow.'', said Jenny stunned. They both got inside the room and Sherlock asked the woman to write down her confession. The fake Adele Brown stirred and looked at them with eyes fool of fear. She tried to hold the pen in her right hand, but couldn't. Eventually she burst into tears and told them everything.

In long story short, the woman was Adele Brown's identical twin sister, Ingrid. The wife knew about her husband's infidelities and with her sister's assistance, she drugged him and the girls, by injecting some homemade mixture of valium and painkillers in the wine bottles they had. Then the wife shot them, called the police and fled, leaving her sister to face the consequences.

''But why didn't she say from the beginning that she wasn't Adele Brown? Why would she do that?'', asked Sherlock, looking quite bewildered.

''I think Ingrid Thomas felt guilty and wanted to punish herself. Maybe she somehow wronged her sister in the past and thought that this was a chance to atone for her sins.'', replied Jenny. They had already sent a team to pick the wife. Jenny's phone rang. They informed her that Mrs. Brown was caught while she was catching a plane to Ireland. They were now bringing her for questioning, but frankly they didn't need to since her sister had confessed.

''Would you do something like that for your sister?'', asked Sherlock.

Jenny raised her eyes and looked at him, as they walked down the hall to reach her office. ''If my sister thought something like that, I would help her by bringing her to her senses. Murder is a crime Sherlock and I fight it.''

''Of course you wouldn't help her, Lestrade.'', said Sherlock. She fascinated him. No, he didn't feel attraction to her of any kind, but the simplicity of her mind amazed him. She trusted him and helped him, she gave him a place to stay and she was there when he was in need of something stronger than drugs. She saved his mind, in a way. She was like the sister he never had, but wished to. ''Maybe sentiment isn't that tedious after all'', he thought and smiled.

They both entered Jenny's office. Sherlock collapsed on the chair across her and Jenny sat at her office chair. She started writing the reports on the case, when she noticed an envelope under the sheets. She picked it up and examined it. It didn't have a name on it or a post stamp, so it was delivered by someone. Sherlock eyed her curiously.

Jenny took her metal paper knife and opened the file carefully. The envelope contained a white card. The texture of the paper was thick and the ink on it was from a fountain pen. Sherlock's eyes widened in realization and grabbed the card from Jenny's hands.

''Oi! That's mine!'', she cried, but he ignored her. His eyes roamed quickly over the fine lines many times and then he threw the card on the desk and sighed furiously. Jenny picked the card bewildered and read.

_Dear Genevieve Lestrade, DI._

_We would be most delighted to invite you to our house this weekend to make your acquaintance. We also request the presence of our youngest son, Sherlock Holmes. You can send your answer at the email address, which you will find in the back of this card._

_Sincerely, _

_Clarence and Morella Holmes._

''Oh.'', she merely said. ''I believe we should go.''

''I believe we shouldn't!'', replied Sherlock grimly.

''Sherlock, these are your parents!''

''Nice deduction Lestrade!'', he said sarcastically.

''You know what I mean!'', she sighed. ''I believe that was what your brother wanted to tell you these morning, wasn't it?''

Sherlock nodded.

''Look, if you don't want me to come, I won't, but you must go and see them. I've never seen you calling or visiting them and since they require your presence, it means that they want to see their son. How hard can it be for the two of us to spend a weekend with your family?''

Sherlock looked at her with a mischievous smile on his lips. ''Very well Lestrade. That is a challenge! We'll see if you can manage a weekend with my family!''

''Oh, boy! I am so going to regret this!'', she thought.

* * *

''We could have called for one of my parent's cars! That way we wouldn't get lost!'', sighed Sherlock angrily and sulked in the passenger's seat.

''We took my car, because it is going to be easier to leave, if necessary and we didn't get lost! I'll find the way.'', replied Jenny, while trying to focus and get them to the right road.

''So, now, you regret it!''

''I don't regret a thing! But, who knows, they might need us for a case.''

''I tell you, every criminal in London will be on holidays. Mycroft is going to make sure of that. We are trapped for two days in my family's house and that's your fault!''

''Stop acting like a child and help me find that bloody road!''

They had been in the car for two hours. For two, long hours Jenny had to deal with the constant complaints of the younger detective. She was tired, hungry and they were out of coffee and biscuits. It was 9 o'clock and they were now completely lost, because of the stupid GPS system.

''_On the next road, turn left.''_, said the voice of the machine.

''Yeah, yeah you said that before!'', said Jenny angrily and ignored the irritating voice of the digital woman. She always forgot to change it to the male one.

''_You are going the wrong way. Turn around.''_, said again the passionless voice.

''Shut up!'', yelled Jenny and turned the machine off. Sherlock was looking at her with the ''I told you so.'' look of his. Jenny ignored him and after a while she found the right road. They were now approximately half an hour from Sherlock's house.

After a while they reached the house, which was nothing like a house. ''Good Lord! We arrived at Gosford Park!'', exclaimed Jenny. The mansion was huge and absolutely staggering. They were big windows everywhere and in front of the great entrance was a beautiful marble staircase. On the right and left of the house they were two big glasshouses. The day was sunny and that gave the estate a beautiful glow, giving someone the impression that the whole mansion was carved in marble. Jenny parked a few meters from the entrance and got out, still stunned.

''Don't bother taking the suitcases, the staff will. Just give them the keys when we enter.'', said Sherlock. Although slightly irritated and anxious, he was acting quite normal. This wasn't new to him and having others serve him was natural. Jenny felt like she was in an Agatha Christie novel, ready to investigate a complex murder that took place in the mansion's grounds.

They walked up the stairs and Sherlock knocked on the carved wooden door. Immediately, a valet opened it and they entered the hall. Another man appeared and took their jackets and after him another one, possibly the Butler, led them to the grand hall of the mansion. At the end of the huge room was another staircase, which led to the rooms. To the left and right of it were two long corridors which led to different rooms, probably the common areas where Sherlock's parents met their guests and spent most of their time. Jenny followed Sherlock and the Butler down the left one, which was big and sunny. Through the French doors she had a nice view of the manor's grounds and could see a man working in the garden.

The corridor was full off portraits and Jenny made a mental note to inspect it thoroughly later. She only glanced at them. Men and women, of the Holmes family apparently, were looking as they went past them. Jenny felt a little spooked but she was mostly intrigued. The family's history seemed to be endless, judging by the number of portraits that adorned the walls.

She followed the two men, noticing that the mansion was relatively quiet, except for a few people, who were moving around the house, making sure everything was in order. They reached another wooden door and the valet knocked twice, before entering.

''Mr. Holmes, the younger and Detective Inspector Lestrade.'', said the man in a formal tone and stepped aside to let them enter. They got inside the drawing room and saw immediately two people standing up. The woman, apparently Sherlock's mum, gave a small cry and hugged her son. Jenny smiled at this image.

''My little bubble! It's so good to see you! You look so handsome, as always. How are you?'', said Mrs. Holmes and kissed him in both cheeks.

''I'm fine, Mummy. You look superb!'', replied Sherlock with a genuine smile. He was right. Mrs. Holmes was superb. She was about sixty years old, but her skin was flawless, almost without a wrinkle. She was tall, taller than Jenny. She had short wavy auburn hair and blue eyes. Like both of her sons, she had high cheekbones and a sharp nose. She then averted her gaze to Jenny.

''Mummy, I'd like to introduce you to my colleague, DI Genevieve Lestrade. Lestrade, this is my mother, Lady Morella Holmes.''

Jenny shook hands with her and smiled. ''Colleagues?'', asked Lady Holmes suspiciously. Of course, this was her youngest son. She was careful and calculative to any woman who might stand next to him.

''Yes, ma'am. Sherlock is an invaluable member of my team. His mind and skills exceed those of other officers.'', smiled Jenny.

''Of course, he is, Detective Inspector. My Sherlock is far smarter than any of you.''

Jenny smiled awkwardly.

''Now, now Morella, no need to offend our guest!'', said Clarence Holmes who, thankfully, chose the right moment to interfere.

''Sherlock!'', smiled Clarence warmly, as he embraced his son.

''Father!'', replied Sherlock. ''Lestrade, this is Sir Clarence Holmes, my father. Father, this is...''

''DI Genevieve Lestrade! I know Sherlock. You don't have to be so formal among friends and family.'', said Clarence with a smile, as he warmly shook Jenny's hand. He was at the same age as his wife. Sherlock took after his father. They were almost identical! If you wanted to see how Sherlock would look like in his sixties, you just had to take a look at Sir Holmes.

''Allow me to tell you how happy we are to finally meet such a beautiful and charming woman!'', he said.

''Sir, I...''

''Please, call me Clarence. I insist!''

''Very well. Clarence, thank you for the compliment.''

''It's not a compliment, my dear. I merely observe and speak the truth.'', replied Clarence. ''Now, Sherlock, we've prepared your old room and you Genevieve will be in the one next to his. I believe that tea and coffee will be served in a moment.''

All four of them sat down, Sherlock and Jenny in one sofa and Sherlock's parents opposite them. Tea arrived after ten minutes with some scones, biscuits, small cakes and other things. They talked about various things and Jenny found that Sherlock's father was not at all what she expected. She thought that she was going to face a cold and distant gentleman, yet the person that sat across her was a clever, educated man, with a vast knowledge in politics and arts and a great sense of humor. She felt so relaxed and relieved.

Lady Holmes was reserved at first, but started to feel at ease after a while and took a liking to the DI. She seemed really happy to see her baby boy after so long and that was a plus point for Jenny. Morella was a smart, educated and charming woman and she was an opera singer in her youth, a passion she had disseminate to her sons.

''Do you like the opera Mrs. Lestrade?'', she asked.

''I do ma'am. I have to admit that I've been to the opera only three times in my whole life. My parents though have a big CD collection of opera music, that me and my sister used to listen to. So I consider myself a fan.'', Jenny said as she sipped her tea and Lady Holmes seemed pleased.

There was a knock and the valet entered announcing the arrival of Mr. Holmes, the elder. Once again Mycroft looked impeccable in his navy blue three piece suit. As he entered, Lady Holmes jumped once again to greet her son and Clarence followed suit.

''My pumpkin!'', she cried and kissed her eldest son in the same manner as the youngest.

Jenny arched her eyebrow and turned to Sherlock who was giggling hysterically.

''Pumpkin?'', she asked with a smile.

''That's a nice name for the British Government, isn't it?'', whispered Sherlock and continued his giggles.

''Not as nice as little bubble for the only consulting detective!'', replied Jenny, winking at him. Sherlock stopped laughing. The fact that Jenny knew about his nickname was too much for him to bear.

''Brother, you came.'', said Mycroft, sounding a little surprised. Sherlock scoffed and waved his hand in the air.

''Oh boys stop acting like that.'', said their mother warmly. Jenny noticed how happy she was, seeing her sons together after so long. Jenny felt proud and quite moved for being the catalyst for this meeting.

''Good morning, Inspector.'', said Mycroft extending his hand. Jenny stood up and shook his hand.

''Mr. Holmes.'', she nodded. They sat down again and Mycroft placed himself next to his mother. They started talking about Mycroft's week and how he had stopped several political conflicts around the continent.

''Sherlock I hope you don't mind that our dinner guests will also stay this weekend with us.'', said after a while Morella.

''What dinner guests?'', asked Sherlock suspiciously.

''The Verds my darling boy! They wanted to see you for so long, so I took the liberty and invited them over.'', continued his mother.

''Excellent Mummy.'', said Sherlock and sighed angrily. Jenny gave him a puzzled look, which Clarence seemed to notice.

''They are family friends.'', he said. ''Their twins used to play with Sherlock when they were little.''

''Played? More likely tolerate them. I couldn't stand them, especially that insufferable Louisa! Luckily she's still in Switzerland, so we won't be bothered with her presence.'', said Sherlock to Jenny, with a look fool of disdain.

''She's a wonderful girl.'', said his mother.

''She's an obstinate shrew, that's what she is.''

''Now, now bubble, don't act like that.'', his mother said. Mycroft smirked at his brother.

''What are you smiling at, pumpkin?'', replied Sherlock and Mycroft's smile vanished from his face, only to appear a few seconds later.

''Louisa returned two months ago. She will be here tonight.'', smiled Mycroft.

At the new information, Sherlock mumbled something and crossed his arms and legs. He gave a death glare to his brother, who was still smirking. Clarence then offered Jenny a tour around the house, which Jenny gladly accepted, feeling that Lady Holmes wanted to stay alone for a while with her sons. They left the room, ignoring the protests of Sherlock to follow them.

They walked down the corridor and Clarence told her about each of the family's members on the portraits. He told her all about heir funny and dark secrets. Most of the Holmes members were scientists and politicians, with two of them being members of the House of Lords, at the Victorian Era. The ancestors of the Holmes family seemed to be in politics and science since the beginning of time!

As they walked, a portrait caught Jenny's attention. It was a life size portrait and in it was pictured a man who was identical to Mycroft Holmes. The man was a little more ginger, but apart from that the similarity was staggering. Same icy blue eyes, cheekbones, height, lips. The man was wearing a black frock coat and held a black cane with a silver handle. Jenny smiled as she realized that the man was holding the cane, in the same manner the elder Holmes held his beloved umbrella.

''This is my great - great uncle Aloysius Mycroft Holmes, my eldest son's namesake.'', said Clarence who had noticed her interest for the picture. ''A very capable mathematician and a Grandmaster.''

''He looks a lot like your son.'', she remarked.

''Yes. And this was his wife.'', he said and pointed at a smaller portrait. In it was a woman with beautiful pale complexion and hazel eyes. Her hair was falling freely over her shoulders like a chestnut cascade. The painting pictured only her head and shoulders and the woman was looking at the viewer quite intently. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of pearl earrings, which made the painting resemble Vermeer's masterpiece, _Girl with a Pearl Earring_.

It made Jenny a great impression. Whereas the expressions of the other portraits of the Holmes' clan were serious or unreadable, this was the only one which had true emotion in it. The woman looked so sad. She seemed like she tried to communicate with the painter or the viewer, to let them know about her sorrow.

''What was her name?'', she asked.

''Cordelia Holmes, nee Moreland. She was the daughter of a wealthy landlord. My uncle married her when she was only seventeen years old. It was an unhappy marriage.'', he said thoughtfully.

''What happened to her?''

''Have you ever read _The Oval Portrait _?'', he asked. Jenny shook her head negatively. ''It is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe. The central idea of the story resides in the relationship between art and life. Let's say that my ancestor was more in love with his work, rather than his bride. But let's not get into details. Some things are better left in the past.'', he said and walked to the glass door. ''Shall we take a stroll to the garden?'', he said as he opened it. Jenny took a last look to this magnificent portrait and followed Clarence to the garden.

Maybe later in the evening, when the others would be preoccupied with their guests, she could find a chance and watch it more carefully, maybe even unravel its secrets.


	4. The Mysteries of Holmes' Manor

_**CHAPTER 4: The Mysteries of Holmes' Manor**_

_**The Mystery…**_

Evening came and Jenny was in her room, getting ready for dinner. She was wearing a simple red long sleeved, knee-length dress with black flat shoes. The good thing about being a tall woman is that you don't need to wear heels. Jenny hated heels. She couldn't run in them or even walk, they made her uncomfortable and at the end of the day her feet hurt. She couldn't understand how her sister wore those shoes every day, or even her Sergeant. She was able to run and chase a criminal if it was necessary, in skirts and heels!

She had styled her hair in a messy up-do and was now sorting some locks that fell in front of her face. There was a light knock on the door and Sherlock entered, wearing a dark blue suit, with a grey waistcoat and a black tie.

''You look nice, Lestrade.'', he said plainly, but coming from Sherlock it was like a standing ovation.

''Does your brother know that you stole his signature look?'', smiled Jenny as she put a simple silver leaf pendant around her neck.

''Admit it, it looks better on me! Shall we?'', he said and got out of the room. Jenny followed him.

* * *

They reached the door of the dining room, which was closed. Sherlock seemed a little annoyed. He had told her about the Verd twins and how they used to spoil his experiments. Jenny seeing his discomfort patted him lightly on the back. He gave her a small smile and eventually opened the door.

The dining room was another huge room that consisted from a large dining table and a sitting area. There was a huge crystal chandelier above their heads that reflected the light evenly and created beautiful colors and patterns on the cream colored walls. The black mahogany dining table had a capacity of thirty people and on it were currently placed crystal wine glasses, plates, silver forks and knives. Jenny saw the three Holmeses in the sitting area along with four others, apparently the guests. Sherlock and Jenny went over to join the company.

''Sherlock it's been so long!'', said a petit woman and got up to greet him. Sherlock literally dived in order to hug her. Even though she was wearing high heels, she was too small for Sherlock. The man was like a giraffe!

''How do you do Mrs. Verd?'', he said somewhat uncomfortable after he had released himself from her grip. Fiona Verd was a woman of small stature. She was younger than Sir and Lady Holmes, but not much. She had blonde hair styled in a tight bun on top of her head and had small, perky eyes. She was wearing a light silver colored dress and matched shoes. Jenny felt suddenly a little informal.

''And this must be your girlfriend?'', she said smiling and looked at Jenny.

''We're not a couple.'', they said in sync. Sherlock cleared his throat and introduced Jenny to Fiona. After his wife, Richard Verd came to greet Sherlock and introduce himself to the DI. Richard Verd was a plump, cheerful man. He was tall and had blonde hair like his wife, although they were quite thin. As the rest of the men in the company, except for Sherlock, he was wearing a tuxedo and he looked like that bow tie was chocking him.

The twins, Jeremy and Louisa were nothing like each other. Jeremy was tall, blonde with green eyes. He had a certain air of confidence in the manner of his speech, like he owned the world. His sister Louisa, was his senior by ten minutes. Louisa was nothing like her family in beauty and manners. Although her parents and twin brother were beautiful, she had something extraordinary. She had dark red hair, obviously not her natural color and the same green eyes as the other Verds. Her hair, long and thick, were covering her shoulders. She had a heart shaped face with fair complexion and rosy cheeks. Her nose was small and her lips were full. She was relatively tall, but not as tall as Jenny and she was slim, but not skinny. Louisa was wearing a baby blue long dress and gave Jenny the impression that she had jumped out of a Waterhouse painting. She greeted Sherlock coldly and seemed uninterested in Jenny.

The other members of the Holmes family were stunning as usual. Lady Holmes was overshadowing the other women with her tall, lean frame and plum colored gown. Her husband was standing beside, his hand lightly placed over her right shoulder, looking proud of his wife. Mycroft was sitting on the couch while the others were greeting his brother and the DI. He was fiddling with his Blackberry, since he didn't have his umbrella there. Eventually, when dinner was served he got up.

* * *

Jenny was sited between Sherlock and Jeremy. Opposite her was Mycroft Holmes and next to him Louisa. Clarence, although the patriarch of the family, decided that he wanted to sit next to his youngest son and not at the head of the table, a place which was given to his beloved wife. Richard sat opposite Clarence and his wife next to him, facing Sherlock.

The food was delicious and the conversations between the members varied from the weather and sports, to politics and cinema. Jeremy was showing a great interest in Jenny and was talking exclusively to her.

''You are quite young for a Detective Inspector.'', he said.

''I was promoted two years ago after an undercover case involving bankers and illegal adoptions.'', she replied and sipped her red wine.

''It sounds interesting. Like a movie I'd like to watch.''

Jenny smiled somewhat melancholically. She recalled how close she came to losing her then DI and close friend Margaret Hamish, when one of the criminals grabbed her and threatened her with a knife against her throat. Her limps and right hand were broken and she couldn't move. Margaret took a shot at her stomach, but she managed to kill him before it was too late for Jenny. Jenny recalled how the blood felt warm in her trembling hands as she pressed her friend's wound, whispering that all was going to be ok, at the same time trying to hold back her tears. Margaret was there the day Jenny got the promotion and told her that she was promoted too and transferred to Plymouth. They parted with a tight hug and Jenny hasn't seen her since then. Life wasn't at all like the movies.

''Genevieve. Are you listening?''

The slightly irritated voice of Jeremy brought her back. ''I'm sorry I was having a flashback. You were saying?''

Jeremy shook his head and continued his boring story about his career as a head of his family's department stores around the UK and the possibility of expanding their empire in China and America. He went on about the stock market and his new yacht, while flirting shamelessly with her, pointing out the difficulty of walking with a gun on your hip. Jenny thought that her brain would explode and turned to see if Sherlock could help her. Sherlock though was having a deep conversation with his father about the different types of tobacco ash and so Jenny sighed, accepting her fate.

''You should come and see it sometime?'', said Jeremy suddenly in a seductive tone.

''Excuse me?'', asked Jenny, almost chocking with a potato.

''My yacht, or anything else you like.'', he winked and Jenny just smiled. She suddenly felt his shoe touching her leg. Her eyes must have popped out of her head, for Mycroft spoke making Jeremy take his bloody foot of her.

''I'm afraid the Inspector is very occupied.'', said Mycroft from the other side of the table. ''She is currently babysitting Sherlock, while chasing around criminals.''

''She's not babysitting me!'', cried Sherlock the moment he heard his name coming out of his brother's lips.

''Sherlock is a valuable member of my team, Mycroft. I believe you know that.'', Jenny replied calmly.

''Indeed, he is.'', he smirked and continued his conversation with Fiona Verd.

* * *

The dinner was finally over and the company was now free to do as they wanted. Mycroft informed them that he had some important calls to make and left. The others went to the music room. Jenny was trapped again with Jeremy who didn't seem willing to let go of her arm. She cursed Sherlock who practically ignored her, but she instantly forgave him since he was talking to his parents. They had undoubtedly many things to discuss.

As soon as they got inside the music room Louisa entertained them. She played 'Tristesse', a composition by Chopin with Sherlock's commentary that this was actually called Étude Op. 10 No. 3, in E major and not 'Tristesse', since the composer himself never gave the piece a name. After her performance Jenny found herself next to Morella discussing about her life as an opera singer, which was really fascinating. She told Jenny about her performances as Carmen and Tosca and Jenny made a mental note to look her name up on the Internet, once she was back in London and find those recordings, if possible. Their conversation went on and on. Jenny at some point excused herself to the bathroom. She didn't really need to go, but she saw Jeremy approaching and the last thing she wanted was his hands on her. She left quickly, noticing that not only Mycroft was missing from the company.

* * *

Mycroft applied chalk on the tip of his cue and hit another ball. The ball went straight into the hole along with the others before it.

''You're quite good with that.'', said a soft voice from the other end of the table. He raised his head and saw Louisa standing there, smiling.

''Why aren't you with the others.'', he asked and walked around the table to find the right corner for his next move.

''I enjoy your company more.''

Mycroft hit another ball and went to stand to his previous position. ''I'm busy.'', he said. With one hit he sent two balls inside the holes in the corner of the green table.

''I think you're done for tonight, dear.'', she said and pushed the three remaining balls inside a hole, thus ending the game. Mycroft tutted and placed the cue on a stand against the wall.

''I've missed you.'', she purred.

''Did you?'', he chuckled.

''Oh yes. A lot. Especially at nights.''

She came to stand in front of him, while leaning against the table. She smiled at his image. He had taken his jacket of and his bow tie was hanging loose around his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt were open.

''We should get back to the others.'', he said nonchalantly and moved. She grabbed his arm.

''Come on Myc. Don't act like you're not interested.'', she said and got closer to him. Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

''Louisa we've talked about this. This was just a fling.''

''It lasted for more than two years, it was more than just a fling.'', she said, leaning against the billiard table once again. ''You even came to Switzerland to find me, remember?''

''I did. And I found you. In the arms of another man in a quite compromising position.'', he smirked.

''You cannot possibly be jealous of George?'', she said, waving her hand vaguely in the air.

''Jealousy would imply feelings. Our relationship was based on carnal desire.''

''Oh come one Myc. Don't tell me that you never had feelings for me?'', she scoffed.

''I'm sorry I did not.''

They stayed silent for a few moments, just looking at each other.

''Do you recall why we started this?'', said Louisa.

''I have forgotten the reason. It's been so long.''

''Would you like me to remind to you?'', she smirked and hooked her fingers to his belt, pulling him close to her.

''Louisa we need to go back. People might notice.''

''Your brother is occupied with your parents and mine are talking to that DI. No one will understand a thing.'', she said, bringing her mouth close to his. ''Never had, never will.''

She kissed him passionately. At first he didn't respond, but when her tongue licked his bottom lip, he gladly gave her the entrance she required. They kissed lazily for a while, when Louisa suddenly grind against him. Mycroft shivered and felt her smiling against his lips. He grabbed her by her small waist and placed her on the table. Louisa trapped his waist with her legs and started unbuttoning his shirt. Mycroft left her lips for her neck, kissing the tender flesh softly, trying not to leave a trace. Louisa was whimpering softly and a moan escaped his lips. His shirt now was open, his bow tie on the floor. Mycroft pushed Louisa's long dress over, revealing her delicate creamy thighs around his waist.

''Like old times.'', she chuckled breathlessly.

He didn't reply, instead he captured her lips again for a long deep kiss. Louisa's fingers were occupied with his belt, when the door opened.

* * *

Jenny had left the music room and was now roaming to the house. Since Sherlock's parents had given her permission, earlier this evening, to walk freely around the mansion and visit any room she liked, she decided to go to the library.

Sherlock had told her everything about their rare books and manuscripts and she also wanted to see were Sherlock had spent most of his time as a child. She wondered around the corridors for quite a while, since the mansion was endless. So far she had found two bathrooms, a study and for some reason she had ended up to the kitchen were Olivia, the cook, told her which way to go.

She found the two doors were the kind woman had sent her and went to inspect the first one, on her right.

As soon as she entered the room she froze. She saw Mycroft between Louisa's legs, kissing her passionately, his lips red and wet from her kisses.

All three of them froze to their places, looking at each other.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Jenny reacted first. She grabbed the door knob and quietly closed the door, leaving without a single word.

* * *

Mycroft untangled himself from Louisa's grip and started putting his clothes back on.

''Stupid cow!'', mumbled Louisa.

''She won't say a thing. I'm going to have a word with her.'', he said, as he quickly buttoned up his shirt and arranged his bow tie. ''This was a bad idea.'', he said and grabbed his jacket from the back of an armchair.

He left the room as calm and collective as he always was. He walked quickly down the corridor and reached the grand hall.

''Casper.'', he said to the smartly dressed valet.

''Sir.''

''Have you seen DI Lestrade?''

''Yes Sir. Mrs. Lestrade went outside. She might have wanted to take a stroll. It's a lovely night tonight.'', replied the man.

''Good. Can you give me my coat, please?''

The young man helped Mycroft with his coat. He bid Casper goodnight, grabbed his umbrella and left to find Jenny.

There was the sound of rambling thunder the moment he left the mansion.

* * *

As soon as she closed the door, Jenny walked down the corridor and reached the front entrance. There was no one there and so she opened the main door and went outside.

The cool air hit her as she climbed down the marble stairs. She started walking with no particular destination. Her mind was too occupied to care.

It wasn't unusual for her. When she was younger she had found herself in similar situations. She had seen her friends in intimate moments with others. She had blushed and apologized. Then she made fun about it! Now though. Well, now she felt like she was caught during a drug trade.

She sighed. ''What if he threatens me again or worse… Why didn't I knock?'', she thought.

She didn't realize that she had reached the back of the mansion and was now walking away from it. The light from the house was not sufficient for her to see. Luckily there were some lanterns around the grounds and also tonight the moon was full. Jenny saw the moon reflecting to some kind of liquid surface.

''It must be the lake Sherlock had told me about!'', thought Jenny and walked there. The lake, which the young detective was searching for specimens as a child, was far away from the mansion.

She walked quickly and reached it. The air was colder there and so Jenny crossed her arms to her chest. Her breath was visible in the cold atmosphere. She decided that she should get back. Then, fat drops of rain fell to her face and there was the sound of the thunder and the night sky was colored by the lightning.

''Oh great!'', she cried, throwing her hands in the air. ''Just my luck!''

The ground was getting sticky and mud was all over her shoes. The rain was getting heavier. She saw something like a hut near the lake banks. She walked there with great effort and stood in front of it.

There was another lightning and she could see that this was not a hut.

In front of her was a tomb. It was actually a mausoleum. It was a small and simple structure and carved in black marble. Jenny thought that it was just for one person, rather than a family tomb. Outside the door was standing an angel, also carved in black marble. It was one of the most beautiful statues Jenny had ever seen.

The angel was standing with its right hand touching the door lightly and the other falling to its side. The angel's wavy hair was loose to its shoulders. The long dress of the angel had thick straps and Jenny could see a hint of bosom, so the sculptor must have intended for the angel to appear female. Jenny could also see the delicate bare feet of the statue. Under the rain and the moonlight, the statue seemed almost real.

Jenny approached and looked at the statue more carefully. The angel's eyes were closed. This was a very strange statue indeed. She walked to the door. With her hand wet from the rain she cleaned the iron plate of the door and wiped the rain droplets from her eyes.

''Well, this is… odd.'', she mumbled when she saw the name. _Cordelia Holmes._

''Why would they built a tomb just for her?'', she thought.

By now she was completely wet and cold. Her fingers were frozen and she couldn't move them properly. She decided that it was best for her if she left now, before she caught her death. The moment she took one step forward she slipped.

She didn't manage to make a sound. A strong hand grabbed her and pulled her in time, before she fell inside the water. She fell in the arms of Mycroft, under his umbrella.

''Inspector, are you alright?'', he asked and Jenny thought that she heard some concern in his voice.

''I'm fine.'', she said and released herself from his grip, only to regret it, since his warmth was what she needed at this point.

He cleared his throat. ''What exactly were you thinking when you stormed outside without any protection?'', he said.

Jenny shrugged. ''May we go inside now?'', she said.

''I see you discovered my ancestor's tomb.'', he said louder, in order to be heard, for the sound from the thunders was sonorous. She nodded.

''You almost fell inside the lake the same way she did.'', he continued. ''Only this would have been an accident.''

''What do you mean?'', she asked. Suddenly her curiosity was a stronger feeling than the piercing cold.

''Cordelia Holmes. She committed suicide.''

''Why?'', asked Jenny and looked at the water surface, which was now disturbed by the rain droplets.

''They say she was mad. She was mad because she wasn't loved. But that is the romantic side. If you ask me she did it, driven by revenge for a nonexistent enemy. Her husband.'', he said with gloom. ''She was pregnant at that time.''

Jenny's eyes went wide. ''Like Medea.'', she said.

''Killing her child to extract revenge? Yes, quite so. It was a stormy night, pretty much the same as tonight. She fell inside the lake. Aloysius built this memorial to the spot where she was found.''

They were quiet for some minutes, each one occupied with their thoughts, until Jenny started shaking. ''We better get back inside.'', he said and offered his arm to her. Jenny looked at him and then at his extended arm. She didn't accept his offer though and started walking. Her shoes were dirty and it was unable for her to walk in them, so she took them of and started walking barefoot.

''Inspector, don't be such a child.'', he scolded. Jenny ignored him and kept walking. She felt his strong hand grabbing her arm again, only this time with more force. He twisted her, so she could face him. Jenny jerked and stepped back.

''Don't touch me again!'', she said and walked away.

''You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met!'', he said from behind. He sounded vexed.

''I'll take that as a compliment!'', she replied, without turning to look at him.

''I don't think you should.''

They stayed quiet. The only sound that they could hear was that of their footsteps in the mud and that of the rain. They reached the back door of the manor, which led to the lower levels of the house, where there was the manor's wine cellar and also the laundry room. Jenny wiped her feet to the doormat, earning a disapproving glare from Mycroft, which she ignored.

They walked to the corridor and entered the laundry room. Mycroft took his coat off and hung it to an aluminum coat rack. He then turned and saw Jenny. Her dress was completely drenched and water was dripping from her hair and clothes. He looked around the room and found some clean towels.

''Here.'', he said and gave her a fluffy white towel. Jenny took it and started wiping the water from her face and hair. She then threw it over her shoulders, like a cape.

''Thank you.'', she said and moved to exit the room.

''I believe that what you saw will remain between us and that you won't use it against me, at any circumstances.'', he said softly. Jenny froze and turned to look at him. ''Not that they would believe you, if you told anyone.'', he smirked.

''I don't use personal information against others, unlike you.'', she replied coldly. ''Goodnight Mr. Holmes.'', she said and left the room, living Mycroft on his own.

_**and the Portrait**_

The next morning the company had breakfast in the drawing room. Louisa was glancing at Jenny with irritation. Jenny found it amusing and flashed a genuine smile to her, which made Louisa even more furious. Clearly she wasn't happy that the DI had interrupted her romantic tete-a-tete with Mycroft.

Jeremy was once again occupying Jenny talking about his trips around the world. Sherlock this time came to her rescue, without his knowledge, when he started explaining to her who the murderer with the pruning shears was. Jenny found the opportunity and slipped outside the room to make a call and arrest the man.

When she got back inside she heard Clarence talking about teams.

''Genevieve would you like to be a pair with Sherlock?'', he said and smiled.

''Pair?'', she replied bewildered.

''For our tennis match!'', said Richard with glee.

''What tennis match?''

''It's a boring family tradition.'', said Sherlock and sipped his tea.

''Don't be like that bubble. You love it. You can play with me if Jenny doesn't want to.'', smiled Morella.

Eventually they agreed that Jenny and Louisa, who complained about her hand that hurt, would not participate. The rest of them went to their rooms to get ready for their game. Even though the day was sunny, Jenny wore her leather boots. She put her double-breasted military coat and left the mansion for another walk. She went once again to the lake. She wanted to inspect the place better, since yesterday was a rather odd day.

* * *

Jenny was standing next to the statue at the lake banks, looking at the green meadows that were beyond the lake. She could hear the voices of the others. The tennis court was outside, next to the right glasshouse. So far Sherlock and Morella had beaten Jeremy and his mother and they were now against Mycroft and Mr. Verd. Clarence was the referee.

She heard someone approaching and turned to see Louisa. She stopped and looked at her.

''May I help you Mrs. Verd?'', asked Jenny, lowering her Ray-Ban Aviator to take a better look at her. Louisa was wearing a charcoal colored pencil skirt today with a white blouse. On top she was wearing her beige Burberry cashmere coat, which Jenny estimated that it costed more than she earned in a month.

Louisa did not answer. She looked at her from top to bottom, raising her eyebrow at her coat. Jenny rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses to her nose. She decided to ignore her as much as she did, so she continued admiring the view.

''I want to give you an advice.'', Louisa said suddenly, making Jenny turn again to look at her. ''A womanly advice if you like.'' She came and stood next to her, her body facing Jenny. ''Stay away from him!'', she hissed.

Jenny furrowed her eyebrows. Apparently, Louisa was afraid that her brother was infatuated with the DI. She was obviously concerned that Jenny was going to steal her precious brother and their mighty fortune. ''Mrs. Verd, if you're talking about your brother, I have absolutely no interest in him, so…''

''I'm not talking about my brother. He does that to every woman he meets, so believe me you're nothing special.'', she spat.

''I think, I haven't given you the right to talk to me like that.'', said Jenny.

Louisa raised her head, her neck elongating. She still wasn't tall enough for Jenny though. ''Stay away from Mycroft!''

Now it was Jenny's turn to raise her eyebrows and burst into laughter. Louisa didn't look a bit amused and was getting angrier at Jenny.

''Oh God! That is the funniest thing I've heard in months!'', said Jenny while wiping tears from her eyes. ''Mrs. Verd, I have no intension of stealing your boyfriend! In fact, we don't even like each other. You don't have to be afraid.''

Louisa though didn't seem relieved. She turned her face away to look at the lake. Jenny stopped her giggles the moment she saw tears rolling down her cheeks. ''Louisa, are you alright?'', she asked and went to touch her shoulder in compassion.

Louisa jerked like she had been electrocuted. ''Don't touch me!'', she cried and took a step back. Jenny was astonished by her behavior. She thought that it was better if she encountered her as she did with the victims. With understanding and compassion.

''Can I get you anything? Do you need me to call someone?'', she said. Louisa shook her head and crossed her arms to her chest.

''Caring is not an advantage.'', she said.

''I'm sorry?''

''That's what he always says. Caring is not an advantage.''

She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks and continued. ''He was never able to love me. I tried to make him to, but he just… couldn't! It's like he's made of ice!''

Jenny felt really awful. She felt the urge to apologize to her, but she knew this was entirely stupid. It wasn't her fault that Mycroft was unable to love Louisa. She was speechless by her outburst though.

''Louisa…''

''Stay away from him!'', she snapped and left quickly, practically running to the house, leaving Jenny to the banks alone and dumbfounded.

''What is wrong with these people!'', she mumbled and sat to the ground, her back resting against the marble feet of the statue. ''No wonder you drowned.'', she said, looking at the iron plate of Cordelia's tomb.

* * *

_Two months later_

Jenny woke up when her door bell rang at ten o' clock in the morning. Today was her day of and she had decided to spend it in bed, curled under the covers. She got up, put her robe on and stumbled to the living room, trying not to bump to the furniture.

''Sherlock, if your landlord kicked you out of your apartment again, I will beat you to death!'', she said as she went to open the door.

She unlocked it and saw a FedEx man standing, holding a square package. ''Mrs. Genevieve Lestrade?'', he asked, while looking at the piece of paper he was holding.

''Yes.''

''This is for you.'', he said and handed the packet. ''Sign here please.''

When the man left, Jenny sat at her couch and examined the package. She fiddled it, checking every corner and realized that it was some sort of frame. A picture frame.

She tore the paper and her mouth dropped. Cordelia Holmes was looking at her with those beautiful, enigmatic eyes.

''What the Hell?'', she thought. She then saw an envelope, stuck in the corner of the carved wooden frame. She picked it up and placed the portrait next to her carefully.

There was no name on the white envelope, so she quickly opened it and found a card.

_A gift. – MH_

''For what?'', said Jenny while looking at the card. She sighed and tossed the card on the coffee table. She looked at the picture and grinned. She picked it up and placed it on the armchair next to the couch.

''It suits better in my house.'', she chuckled and went to prepare her morning coffee.

* * *

**_Note:_** _**I updated sooner, since I'm on vacation! I know that this chapter was really quick, but I want to have John in the next one! Hope you like my version of Dr. Watson! :)**_


	5. The Forlorn Inspector

_**CHAPTER 5: The Forlorn Inspector**_

October 2010

She knew it before Sherlock said anything. She wasn't the youngest DI for nothing. She was smart enough to piece the evidence together. His words outside the crime scene merely confirmed her suspicions.

Dr. Joan Watson was the shooter. She knew from the moment she saw Sherlock's new flat mate on the crime scene. She understood when Sherlock stopped talking and made a dash for the young woman, throwing the orange blanket inside the police vehicle on the way.

''Oh, she is a lovely young lady, Dr. Watson. Did you know, she came back from Afghanistan just a few days ago.'', Mrs. Hudson had said just before the police burst into 221B scaring the poor woman. But Sherlock had gotten it too far.

When Jenny saw a very familiar black car coming into a halt in front of Sherlock she left the crime scene, informing her Sergeant that she would be at the Yard sorting the paperwork. Sally had objected, saying she should come with the others down the pub to celebrate the end of the three week chase and leave the paperwork for tomorrow. Lestrade had wished them a good evening and had left, saying that she rather do it now.

In truth, she wanted to stay alone.

* * *

Jenny was all alone in the Yard, apart from the security guard downstairs. The only source of light inside her small office was that coming from her bright laptop screen. She was currently writing a speech for the press conference tomorrow. She had to explain somehow how the cabbie was shot and who did it.

The coffee machine at the corridor, outside the office, was making a soft cooing sound which didn't seem to calm her down. She sipped her cool coffee and immediately spat it back in the paper cup.

''I'll have to bring my own coffeemaker.'', she mumbled and opened her drawer. She picked a packet of mint flavored gums and started chewing a piece, in order to get rid of the taste of stale coffee.

She stopped tapping and sighed, bringing her face to her hands. ''What do I have to do?'', she whined. The reason for her exasperation was no other than Dr. Watson. On one hand she knew that if the woman hadn't shot the cabbie, Sherlock would be now dead. On the other hand she had a job to do.

She sighed again, this time angrily. She would never admit it to Sherlock or anyone, because it was her idea in the first place.

She would never admit how it killed her inside, day by day, that Sherlock was solving the cases so easily.

She didn't want him in this one. This was her case, she was the one in charge, she was the one who was not sleeping for the past three weeks to solve it and here comes Sherlock and has the killer in less than ten hours. She loved Sherlock with all her heart, he was her friend. She also liked him as a flat mate, although she would occasionally find severed fingers next to the carton of ice cream. But she couldn't stop the feelings she had every time he marched to the crime scenes having the solution in seconds. It killed her more than anyone could ever imagine. The feeling was eating her insides slowly and she was afraid that one day she would hate him for that.

Because if Sherlock did this Consulting Detective job to keep his mind occupied and clean, she did this job because it was her life and the sole stable thing she had at this point. And Sherlock threatened to take it away from her.

She yawned again.

Insomnia, the wretched curse of every detective.

But unlike detective stories and shows it wasn't something that made the detectives have an epiphany while lying on their beds, smoking and looking at the ceiling, listening to jazz music. Oh no! It was a never ending sleepy state, which made her eyes burn, her brain fuzzy and her cravings for cigarettes greater than ever. It was a constant marathon of weariness and an endless fight to control her nerves.

''I see my brother's harem is expanding.'', said a familiar voice, making her jump almost falling from her chair.

''Damn you Holmes! Don't you ever knock?'', cried Jenny.

He shrugged lightly. ''Doors are always open for me so I don't find it necessary.'', he smiled, making Jenny roll her eyes at the comment. ''Either way I don't think you would have heard me, you were too busy thinking of a very important matter.''

''And how would you know?'', she said darkly.

Mycroft tutted. ''Please Inspector, don't insult me like that. I am a Holmes after all. My brother is not the only one with the ability of deduction. In fact, I am the one who taught him everything, although he has probably erased that small detail from his mind.'', he continued while examining her, as much as the desk between them allowed. ''You avoided me at the crime scene.''

''You don't say.'', she mocked and turned her gaze to the screen again.

He chuckled, making her turn to look at him again. ''Do I amuse you so much?''

''Quite.''

''At least someone is having fun.'', she muttered. ''So, how I can help you?''

The smile on his face disappeared and he made himself more comfortable at the chair. He smoothed some wrinkles on his tailored trousers and spoke. ''I understand you have the intention of informing your superiors about the shooter.''

Jenny laced her fingers together. ''That is correct. It's my duty.''

''I suggest for your own sake, not to do it.''

Jenny's head tilted to her right side. ''Are you threatening me Holmes?'', she asked.

Mycroft drummed his fingers on the handle of his umbrella absentmindedly. ''Merely a friendly warning. I'm quite fond of you and I wouldn't want to see you fail again.'', he smirked, making her narrow her eyes.

''I'm sorry… fail?''

''The cabbie case Inspector.'', he smiled sly.

''We caught the guy.'', she said and at the same time squished her hands tightly together that her nails started digging in her soft flesh.

''Ah yes, indeed you did. But you are aware that without my baby brother's help you would be still lost. Isn't that after all what you were thinking mere minutes ago? It truly must be a torture watching Sherlock doing everything so easily.'', he replied the smirk still adorning his face.

She swallowed. Great! Now Mycroft bloody Holmes was calling her unworthy. Just perfect!

''I don't care about fame Holmes, I merely want the bad guys behind bars.'', she replied as calm as she could manage and closed her laptop's lid.

He nodded. ''If you say so. But anyway, you know perfectly well that even if you do report Dr. Watson, she would not serve any time. She saved a person after all. You, on the other hand, will appear as the bad guy! You know how reporters love these kind of things.''

''Yeah, whatever.'', mumbled Jenny and got up, collecting her belongings. ''Are we done?'', she said as she put her coat on.

''For now.'', he smiled, watching her as she left the office in a hurry. ''And Inspector.'', he said making her stop at the threshold.

She turned slowly to look at him. ''What?'', she asked tiredly.

''Try not to get too drunk this time.'', he said.

Jenny left without a single word. ''Perfect.'', she thought as she climbed down the stairs.

* * *

The next day Sherlock appeared in her office with Dr. Watson following him. There wasn't any case that he would be interested in, merely some domestic violence cases, but nevertheless he appeared.

He sat himself in a chair in front of her desk demanding a case.

''Well I'm sorry Sherlock, but we don't have anything at the moment. I can handle myself pretty well.'', Jenny merely said and turned her gaze back to some case files.

''Can you?'', asked Sherlock and Jenny knew he wasn't referring to the cases. He had obviously spotted the dark circles under her eyes, which she had tried to conceal with make-up.

''Mhm.'', she said and raised her head to look at Joan who was inspecting the two of them with her bright blue eyes. The doctor saw the DI looking at her and smiled, extending her hand in salute.

''Joan Watson.''

Jenny got up and shook her hand. ''Jenny Lestrade. Sorry for not introducing myself properly yesterday.''

''No worries.'', smiled the young woman.

Then Sherlock started rumbling something about a cat and some rat poison, which gave Jenny the chance to make her observations.

About the same age as Sherlock maybe even a year or two younger than him. Golden complexion, sandy blonde long hair styled in a Dutch braid and deep blue eyes. She was wearing a cream colored jumper with a black jacket on top of it, a knee length deep blue skirt and black flat shoes. She was a few inches shorter than her, with a slim figure, yet you could see the lines of her compact physique, but something in her air and manners did not indicate that she had been in the Army. She was really sweet, her face was pleasant and beautiful and her character so far rather nice.

''Lestrade, if you finished looking at Joan, can I have a word with you?'', Sherlock's voice snapped her back to attention.

Jenny snorted. ''You haven't been doing anything different since you got here.''

Joan chuckled, earning a disapproving glare from Sherlock, which she didn't seem to mind. ''Yet another person who can handle him.'', thought Jenny amused.

''Joan would you mind waiting outside?'', asked Sherlock politely.

''Alright. We should hang out sometime.'', said Joan addressing to Lestrade.

''That would be lovely. Here's my card.'', said Jenny, passing a little white piece of paper to the doctor.

''Great! I'll be outside.''

When Joan left Sherlock turned to look at her dead serious. ''I believe that your knowledge of certain events will remain secret.''

Jenny furrowed her eyebrows. ''I don't understa-''

''You understand perfectly well Lestrade.'', Sherlock cut her off, ''I know you are aware of the shooter, which frankly surprises me.'', he said. ''I simply want it to remain a secret.''

Jenny remained silent. Clearly Sherlock wanted to protect Joan which made Jenny's heart flutter. Sherlock was showing genuine feelings for a person at last. She smiled. ''I made a decision yesterday.''

Sherlock tried to deduce her next move but seemed unable to.

''I won't say a thing. After all we should actually thank Joan for saving you, not put her behind bars. And I won't mention anything to the press conference either. I will simply say that we investigate certain people of his past. The matter will die down in a week.''

Sherlock stood up and headed for the door. ''Don't drink too much tonight.'', he said before he dashed of the office, leaving Jenny frozen to her seat.

Of course this was Sherlock. He already knew that she got wasted yesterday night, curled to her favorite armchair, crying like a frightened child. She was also certain that he will have a visit from Mycroft commenting on the event sooner or later. That man had a very weird sense of humor, since he found it amusing to humiliate and insult her at every meeting they had.

She shook her head to make the images of last night go away and continued with her work. This day had started bad and it was the beginning of an even worse week. Although that was something she didn't know. Not yet.

* * *

_Three days later_

Jenny had just entered her office and was ready to start doing the necessary paperwork of yesterday's cases about three robberies at three book shops.

She had armed herself with a big travel mug full of coffee, since she couldn't taste the horrid coffee of the Yard again and some cookies.

The moment she had made herself comfortable in her warm office her mobile rang.

With a groan she picked it up. ''Lestrade.''

It was her Sergeant. ''Murder at the Highgate Cemetery. You better come and see it... it's... well come.''

Sally had sounded quite distressed over the phone. So Jenny said bye-bye to her cozy, quiet day at the office and put her coat on.

* * *

She reached the cemetery and started walking to find her team at the west wing. She was pacing carefully since the ground was still wet from yesterday's rain. Jenny had been here only twice in her life as a tourist and yet this place made her feel awe and horror at the same time. And this time she was sure it would cause her horror and that it would plague her dreams for quite some time. That was if she managed to get some sleep in the first place.

She finally found her team, which had circled a tomb. Sally, who heard her footsteps, turned. She looked paler than usual and she handed Jenny some rubber gloves, stepping aside for her DI to approach the body.

On a grave there was a woman stark naked with a wooden stake pierced through her heart. In her mouth you could see a red cloth that was used to gag her. Her hands were falling limp to her sides and her legs were slightly open, something that made Jenny wince.

''Please, let not this be a rape.'', she thought. An expression of true horror had disfigured the woman's face and Jenny bit her inner cheek in order not to calm down. So many years in this job and she still felt vulnerable. But some things, like this for example, were far more gruesome than necessary.

''Time to think like a detective.'', she thought and dug over the body. She put her humanity aside and put her rubber gloves on, rearranged her black scarf around her neck, so it didn't get in the way and started examining the body.

She looked the woman from head to toe and stopped in her wide open eyes. The green orbs were piercing through Jenny's soul, even if they were lifeless. The woman's ebony hair seemed soft to the touch and fanned her head perfectly. The poor girl's death pale skin matched the slightly dirty marble of the tomb she was placed at. Such a beautiful woman, young and so full of life.

Jenny clenched her teeth. Which bastard decided that had the right to cut the thread of this girl's life, in such a gruesome way?

''Ma'am? Are you alright?'', said Sally from behind.

''Time of death?'', Jenny asked firmly.

''About two in the morning.'', replied Anderson. ''The cold weather preserved the body in good condition or else it would have started to smell. No sexual assault, no signs of fighting. I sent a blood sample and wait for a toxicology report. She was probably drugged.''

''Not so sure.'', mumbled Jenny. ''You can see her expression. She clearly saw it, but there are no signs of struggle.''

''The drugs might have paralyzed her body, not her brain.''

Jenny sighed. Whoever did this, wanted the poor woman to see it. She then turned her attention to the cloth. She touched it lightly to feel its texture.

''Silk.'', she thought ''Weird.''

''Donovan, pass me a two pens please.'', she said and Sally responded quickly. Jenny held the thin plastic pens between her fingers like chopsticks and slowly, with careful motions, removed the cloth from the victim's mouth.

''Well... this gives us a clue.'', she said to her team when she revealed the sharpened fangs. ''Any identification?''

''No.'', said Sally. ''No ID, no bag, no clothes, nothing. Some tourists found her. I guess we should look amongst the Gothic and Vampire clubs.'', she shrugged.

''Maybe the ones who killed her were members of the Van Helsing Coven, bound by oath to kill every creature of the night!'', said Jenny dramatically, causing a fit of giggles amongst the team. If there was a passerby, he would say how insensitive this was, laughing over the body of a dead woman. But it wasn't out of disrespect to the victim. It was the dark, sick humor someone had to adopt if he or she worked on cases like this. It was humor or madness and Jenny preferred to keep her brain intact.

Suddenly Nathan, one of her team's Alsatians, started barking and running fast to a completely different direction of the cemetery. Jenny sprang, throwing the pens on the ground and started running behind him, while the others stayed with the body.

Nathan was running to the east wing of the cemetery, while barking like mad. Jenny almost fell from the scattered rocks and muddy ground, but kept running and hoped that the dog had found a clue and not just wanted to play games. Momentarily she lost him, but heard him again. She started running where the barking came from.

Her lungs burned as she kept running, while at the same time, leaves and twigs got in her face. After a fairly long sprint she caught up with the dog and run behind it. A rather sharp twig got in her eye.

''Fuck!'', she cursed, pressing her hand over her sore eye. But this was not the end. As she closed both her eyes she slipped and fell, face first, to the point of what appeared to be a small iron banister fence. The result was a deep scratch from her cheekbone to her jaw line on her right cheek..

She groaned from the pain loudly and reluctantly opened her eyes. The groan turned into a scream of terror when she realized that in front of Karl Marx's tomb was another woman like the first victim, only this one had her eyes popped out of their sockets, hanging from thin nerve tissues. Nathan was sniffing the body and the tomb.

''Sally!'', shouted Jenny and after a while Sally, Anderson and some paramedics of the team appeared breathless from behind.

''Lestrade are you alright?'', cried Sally, when she saw her bleeding DI.

''Why the Hell didn't you check the whole Graveyard? Are you completely useless?'', shouted Jenny hysterically to her teammates, momentarily forgetting her pain.

''But there was no sign... no one saw anything... the dogs didn't get...'', was Sally's weak apology, before she backed away from Jenny and promptly threw up.

''Lestrade.'', called Anderson who had already dug over the body. ''She... the body was damned just now.''

''What?'', she shouted impatiently. She was still on the ground, her face red from the blood.

''She has been dead for only half an hour. She is still warm. The body was damped just now.''

With a speed she didn't know she possessed, Jenny picked her phone from her coat's pocket and called for backup.

''We need backup at the Highgate Cemetery! Now! Circle the whole place!'', she shouted.

A paramedic was already above her tending on her bleeding wound.

''Leave that and find everything you can!'', shouted Jenny.

''You're in shock Ma'am, just calm down.'', replied the woman calmly, holding both of Jenny's arms.

''Fucking get away from me!'', cried Jenny and started kicking, 'till she felt a cold needle piercing her wrist.

That was the only thing she remembered.

* * *

Press conferences. Jenny hated them. She didn't hate the reporters, they merely did their job, but the whole thing was like the Yard was the circus, they were the visitors and she was the human curiosity.

_Meet Detective Inspector Genevieve Lestrade, the most capable Inspector the Yard can offer!_

The vision of Sherlock dressed in a frock coat and a top hat, while waving his black cane around flashed before her eyes and Jenny coughed to suppress a giggle.

Camera, lights, funfair music! All these played in Jenny's mind constantly, as she explained the case to the hungry reporters. God, it was like the cabbie case all over again, except for Sherlock's messages.

Sherlock. His voice was all over her head, telling her that she needed him, that he would solve the case in seconds.

''Not this time.'', she thought. She had to prove that she was worth a damn.

''Now you can state your questions.'', announced Jenny and the performance started.

* * *

The verdict was three bodies, all female, all in their twenties, all with sharpen canines and all killed in the same manner apart from the mutilation of the eyes and ears of the second and third victim.

''_New Highgate Hysteria?'',_Jenny heard Greg Fielding reciting. _''Is there another dark creature lurking around the grounds of the notorious cemetery? DI Genevieve Lestrade, formerly known for the Taxi Driver Case, says that these attacks have nothing to do with supernatural creatures or cults, but that they are the work of a diseased mind, trying to confuse the people of London and the authorities.'',_ he finished and threw the paper gently on her desk.

''Why, oh why, do I have to sound so stupid in press conferences?'', she sighed, picking the newspaper and falling back to her chair. She looked at her photo, which was in the front page of the paper.

''No worries. Just catch the guy and you'll be fine. If you ask me, this will bring further tourism in our city!'', he smirked.

''Then the Mayor must thank me.'', she replied grimly.

Her DCI smirked and chewed a cookie from the packet Jenny had brought this morning. Looking at it now, she recalled how calm her morning was and how it turned out to be. With three bodies and a busted cheek.

''I'm getting old.'', she mumbled.

''You're not thirty-six yet, it's hardly old.'', he smiled.

''I feel old.'', she sighed, rubbing her bandaged cheek lightly. ''Which is worse than getting older. Do you know that I have actually some grey roots behind my ears?''

Greg chuckled.

''It's not funny!''

Fielding smiled compassionately. ''Just catch the murderer, ok? You'll feel better.'', he said and with that he left the office, leaving Jenny to her contemplations.

* * *

It was nine o'clock in the evening and Jenny was still at her office, looking at the pictures intently. Thankfully there was no message from Sherlock which meant that he was already occupied. Unfortunately no one had come to the Yard to identify the victims.

Jenny had conducted a list with some clubs she would start her investigations. That was the way with unidentified victims. You had to search a lot, in random places.

She was now holding the close ups to their faces. Same horror in their eyes, same teeth, same hair, same eyes. ''There must be a connection.'', she mumbled. ''Not an obvious one, but...''

''Oh!'', she exclaimed suddenly. ''Of course! See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil! The three wise monkeys!'', she said and smiled. She took down some notes to her Moleskin.

''So the murderer has a grudge on the Vampire subculture and likes Japanese sayings.'', she thought. ''At least that's a clue, although small.''

She opened her desk drawer to find her nicotine patches, but instead she found a packet of her favorite cigarettes and a note on it.

''Damn you, Holmes!'', she growled and tore the note. She quickly got up, took the package in her hands and threw it in the bin along with old reports. She then took the folded note in her hands and read.

_A gift. – MH_

''Sod you and your gifts.'', she muttered and tear the little piece of paper.

* * *

It was ten p.m. when she found herself in the bar's bathroom. She was splashing cold water in her face. The dark circles had started making their appearance again under her tired eyes. The cold, unforgiving light of the rest room made her look even more gaunt. She slowly took the bandage off to inspect the wound. It was bad. Red and swollen, but thankfully it wouldn't leave any scar. She already felt ugly and undesirable to worry about looking like Scarface.

Next to her three women were giggling, as they commented on some guys they met and apparently were in a dilemma if they should follow them to their place or not.

One of them was eyeing Jenny through the mirror as she covered her luscious lips with pink lipstick. Jenny left the bathroom and the bimbos, hearing them commenting on her appearance just as she was about to close the door.

* * *

She sipped her second tequila shot leaning with her back against the bar counter, so she could observe the crowd inside the venue.

Smoke, alcohol, sweat, cheap and expensive perfumes. Those were the smells inside the place and they grew stronger by the minute, as people danced to the rhythm of _Hardest of Hearts_ by _Florence and the Machine_.

The lovely dizzy euphoria she felt after a bottle of wine and tequila was magnificent and it seemed to be the only thing that could make her calm at this point.

She lit a cigarette. The delicious smoke that curled to her lips felt like medicine. Her first cigarette in three years. How could such a small, slim stick seem like Heaven in her eyes, she didn't know. It seems that nothing could compare with the deadly smoke that filled her lungs after so long.

She felt peaceful as she blew the smoke. Some of it got in her eye, making it water, but she didn't actually cared. She wiped it with a napkin, the sting sharp in her sensitive eye, but she didn't care. Anything to drive the ghosts of those three women away, the looks the reporters gave her and the sly smile of a certain posh man.

''Are you alone?'', she heard a male voice next to her. She turned and saw a man smiling to her.

''Yeah.'', she replied nonchalantly and averted her gaze to the crowd again.

''Would you like me to buy you a drink?'', continued the man and Jenny turned once again to look at him. Brunette, about the same age as her, with nice eyes hidden behind glasses that were fogged from smoke, sweat and heat. The man kept smiling and Jenny sighed.

''Look, erm… don't waste your time with me. Thanks anyway.'', she said and turned her gaze to her left again.

The man left without further conversation. The last thing she wanted was to engage in small talk with a complete stranger and then have a one night stand that will leave both of them in an awkward situation the next morning.

She grinded the cigarette in the ashtray next to her and left. She pushed her way to the exit, trying not to get hit by the hands and elbows of the people around her.

* * *

She breathed deeply the cold air of London night as soon as she got out of the club. She was way too hammered to drive and so she decided to take a cab.

After she had fiddled for quite some time with the small pocket of her black trousers she found the gums she was searching for. She started chewing a piece, to get rid of the mingled tastes of wine, tequila and smoke that tainted her mouth and started walking as straight as possible.

People. Going in bars, restaurants, family gatherings. Heels clacking on the wet pavement, till they found their destination. People passed next to her not noticing how drunk she was .

A man pushed her through the crowd and Jenny almost lost her balance. She was now pacing along the bars and clubs, trying to find a taxi.

She passed an alley where she heard moans of pleasure mixed with _Placebo's Pure Morning_, from the bar where the couple had obviously come.

Jenny tucked her gloved hands inside her coat's pockets and walked faster. She walked a little while and finally saw something that might have been a cab. She wasn't quite sure her eyes were a bit foggy.

She saw however the sleek black car that pulled next to her.

The tinted window rolled down and Anthea's head popped from inside.

''Good evening, Inspector. Would you be so kind as to get inside?'', she asked.

''I can't handle your boss right now. Don't you see that I'm drunk?'', she whined. The last thing she needed was Mycroft Holmes deducing her entire evening.

''You know you have no choice, don't you.'', smiled the PA.

Jenny gave her a look of disdain. She hated that woman so much right now. ''Fine!'', she cried and opened the door with force, getting inside.

* * *

They reached an abandoned building far from the centre of the city. Jenny wasn't even sure if they were in London anymore. During the ride, she had placed her head against the cool glass of the window and must have taken a nap. Anthea's voice woke her up and she yawned loudly.

''We have arrived. Mr. Holmes is waiting you inside.'', she said. With that she picked her phone and started tapping.

Jenny didn't respond and got out of the car, stretching her back which made a satisfying cracking sound.

When she got inside the building she realized she was standing in the foyer of an abandoned theatre. She rolled her eyes at the picture she saw in front of her.

Mycroft was sitting at a chair dressed in a tuxedo with his expensive coat on top of it. His legs were crossed, he had his right hand lightly placed on his knees and the other one placed on the table next to him, his long fingers drumming rhythmically on the wooden surface.

Jenny snorted. ''What? No umbrella tonight?''

He merely smiled. ''Good evening to you too, Inspector. Please, have a seat.'', he said politely and motioned to the empty chair opposite him.

Jenny sighed angrily and walked to sit there. When she sat, she noticed a manila folder on the table which was quite thick, probably filled with papers and pictures. She eyed the envelope curiously.

''This is for you.'', he said tapping the folder twice.

''Really? How kind!'', she replied sarcastically. ''You could have popped into my office and leave it there, not drag me in God knows where! But I forget you have to keep the charade going.''

Mycroft didn't seem amused. ''Bad day, Genevieve?''

At the sound of her name Jenny narrowed her eyes. ''Don't call me by my name.'', she said grimly and averted her gaze to her right. She saw a box office which seemed to have been red. She wasn't sure, the color had faded and the wood, of which it was manufactured, was now ruined.

''Why not.'', she heard the soft voice of Mycroft. ''It's a beautiful name. I actually wonder why you let people butcher it the way they do. 'Jen' hardly does you justice.''

''I don't want you to call me by my name because we're strangers and I'd like it to keep it that way.''

There was stillness for a while. Jenny kept on looking at her surroundings. This foyer must have been full of life. People roaming around till the show started. The posters on the walls were still visible. She sighed as she imagined all that fading slowly into nothingness. It kind of reminded her.

''You think too much.'', Mycroft said bringing her back to reality.

''I didn't know it was forbidden.'', she snorted.

''I can practically hear your thoughts. They are complicated but not unreadable.'', he smirked.

Jenny looked him through tired eyes and scratched her cheek only to wince from the pain her nails caused on the sore wounded surface.

''You started smoking again.''

''It doesn't take a genius to notice this. Anyway you're the one to blame for this.''

''Me?'', he asked amused. ''Why me?''

''You're the one who gave me the package!''

''I don't recall giving you any cigarette package.'', he continued.

''Yeah right.'', she said and took the say package from her trousers' pocket. She put one between her lips and lit it with her silver Zippo. ''Look Holmes.'', she sighed, rubbing her right eye with her ring finger. ''I'm dizzy, tired and in pain, so tell me what you want so I can go to my lovely house and cozy bed.'', she said tiredly.

''Very well Inspector. I brought you here because I want you to investigate a certain person… a certain woman.''

Jenny scratched the back of her neck and yawned. ''Right. Do you need me as a DI, or is this off the record?''

He smirked. ''Off the record.''

''Then go to your brother.'', she said with spite and got up.

''Lestrade sit down.'', he said firmly, giving her a look of pure exasperation.

Jenny smirked. She threw the half finished cigarette on the marble floor and stomped on it. ''Do I make you angry ?"

''Your audacity vexes me very much, indeed.'', he replied in a calmer tone, rearranging his coat. ''Sit down.''

''I'd rather stand up.''

''Suit yourself.'', he said smoothly. That man could change his mood so quickly that it was actually terrifying. ''As I was saying I want you to investigate a certain woman.''

''And as I said go to Sherlock. If you do not require my capacity as a DI then go to a private investigator. I have a very challenging case to solve and I can't be bothered with your little games. Good night!.'', she said and moved to the exit.

''The Fourth Monkey.'', he called and Jenny stopped.

She turned to see him standing. ''What?''

''See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil. There is a fourth monkey. Do no Evil.''

He turned and looked at the folder. ''I suggest that if you don't want to find a fourth body with her arms cut off, accept the case. Put your stubbornness aside and for once in your life listen to me. I have told you since the first day we met to choose the right allies. You haven't, but there is still time.''

Jenny sighed angrily. She didn't want to act like his bloody personal agent, but she definitely didn't want to find another dead woman and if Mycroft was right, which he probably was, she would never forgive herself for turning down evidence just to vex him. She slowly approached him and took the file in her hands. She fiddled with it but didn't open it. ''Why don't you go to your brother?'', she asked with genuine curiosity.

''I'm afraid that Sherlock will be… troubled.'', he sighed.

''Sherlock? Troubled?''

He gave her a look which pretty much said. ''I hate repetition, don't be so stupid.''

''Yes Inspector, troubled. Sherlock is an extraordinary human being, but I'm afraid that he will trip.''

''Fine.'', she sighed and rubbed her eyes. By now her sleep was long gone and it seemed that it would be yet another sleepless night.

''You're not well.'', stated Mycroft.

''No kidding!'', she mocked.

''Sarcasm isn't the solution to everything.''

''It helps me quite a lot these last years.''

''Did it helped you when you found your husband with your best friend?''

She gripped the folder in her arms tightly. ''Holmes, don't get it too far.'', she warned.

''It must have been a great failure and disappointment to find the two most important people in your life betraying you in such a way. I mean, I myself don't have many friends but I can perfectly understand the pain they must have caused you.''

''Holmes stop it.'', she growled.

''A piece of you must have shattered. You felt unworthy, your trust in people has been shaken and as a result you turned to sarcasm and wine. Pitiable if you ask me.'', he smiled triumphantly.

''Shut up!'', she growled. ''Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what's going on in my head. Don't try to deduce me and don't pity me!''

''Unfortunately you are a pitiable sight.'', he simply stated.

Jenny looked at him with wide eyes. Her mouth was slightly parted and she was panting slightly. She nodded absently. ''Then why do you ask for my help?''

''I feel generous these days. I'm merely giving you a hand. You will find certain things about this woman that will help your investigation and will also help me.''

''You know what?'', she said and dropped the file on the table. ''Sod off! I will find it myself. I don't need your help.''

''Don't you? Because if I understand correctly you haven't even got a clue where this case is going.'', he said, the level of his voice slowly rising.

''I do my job perfectly well! I don't need your help or your insults!'', she cried.

''Really?'', he asked and this time he approached, towering over her, his blue eyes piercing her brown ones with cruelty.

Jenny felt genuinely scared at this point. ''Back off Holmes.'', she warned.

He chuckled darkly. ''I have faced many people like you. Intimidating but scary little children on the inside. And do you know how they ended up?''

''Don't threaten me.'', she growled, trying to fight back the tears that burned the back of her eyes, threatening to come forward.

''Accept my case!''

''I'd rather shoot myself in the face, you prick!''

''Careful now. No need to insult me.''

''Or what? You will punish me?'', she mocked. ''You know what _you_ remind me of Holmes? A spoiled brat that his parents' don't make him all his favors.''

''Don't tempt me, Inspector!''

''I bet you are not used to the word _no_, are you?''

''This is your last warning!''

''Or what Holmsie?'', she smirked.

Her smirk was wiped from her face the moment Mycroft brought his hand behind her neck and pulled her. Her face was mere inches from his, their lips almost touching. She could feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she understood she was not breathing.

She looked at him seeing his eyes black, the blue of his irises almost lost.

''I hate you.'', he whispered, his voice sounding broken, like he was in pain and with that he retrieved his hand. Before Jenny could grasp a hold on the situation he dashed of the place, shutting the main entrance with so much force, that the glass which decorated it, rattled dangerously.

Jenny stood there dumfounded. ''What the hell happened?'', she mumbled after a while. She sat at the chair her hands falling limp to her sides. ''He hates me?''

She didn't actually care what Holmes thought of her, but hate? She didn't like him. He considered him a posh, insufferable bastard, with a power complex and a big ego, but why would he hate her? She didn't like to be hated. Especially from a man who had the power of wiping her from the map of the earth in seconds.

After a few minutes that her wits were restored she saw the file on the table. With slow motions she opened the folder with her right hand and inside found pictures. She went through them quickly spreading them carefully on the table's round surface, 'till she reached the bottom one. She found three A4 sheets of paper and a name highlighted with bright yellow marker.

''Irene Adler.'', she mumbled.

* * *

People. Walking the streets, living their small, insignificant lives, unaware of the forces behind everything. Sometimes he was jealous of them.

Mycroft was sitting at his car, his PA next to him tapping at her phone. He looked at her and she raised her head.

''Your meeting with the Transport Minister has been rescheduled for tomorrow, at eleven a.m.'', she said.

''Excellent.'', he replied and picked the Blackberry from her hands, tossing it to the opposite seat. She gave him a devilish smirk and with that she covered the distance between them crushing their lips together, a moan of pleasure escaping her throat.

His desire had to be satisfied. She wasn't the one he wanted. She wasn't the one he craved for. But Anthea would suffice, at least for tonight.

* * *

**I'm really sorry for the delay. I hope you like the new chapter. I know it's kind of depressing, but I really wanted to write something like a tribute to those noir, troubled, chain-smoker detectives we all love! It will soon be followed by a Mycroft-centric chapter, with my version of his ring! Last but not least, thank you for your reviews, alerts and favorites. Also the two songs and of course the characters mentioned above, do not belong to me. ****Hope you enjoy the rest of the story. :)**


	6. One Thousand and One Nights

_**Chapter 6: One Thousand and One Nights.**_

_The Sultan Shahryar, convinced that all women are false and faithless, vowed to put to death each of his wives after the first nuptial night. But the Sultana Scheherazade saved her life by entertaining her lord with fascinating tales, told seriatim, for a thousand and one nights. The Sultan, consumed with curiosity, postponed from day to day the execution of his wife, and finally repudiated his bloody vow entirely._

_Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov._

* * *

_10:00 a.m._

Mycroft blinked his eyes three times to make the blur go away. Always three times. He then twisted his head lightly, first to the right, then to the left. A small _crack _sounded in the quiet office and his neck was in pain no more. He sighed and sorted his papers in a black carton folder and then some others in a deep green one. Black was for his appointments and green was for classification. His systems always worked.

He heard the elevator's bell and Anthea appeared from behind the shiny, iron doors. As always, tapping at her Blackberry, she informed him in her smooth voice that the car was waiting for them downstairs.

Mycroft got up, smoothing wrinkles from his waistcoat and trousers. He took his grey jacket from the back of his chair and wore it. Collecting his things calmly but quickly, he took his briefcase, secured his cell phone in his pocket and walked to the elevator.

* * *

At midday he was sitting at his favorite table in his favorite restaurant. The circular interior of the room was filled with light and constant chatting. The big windows had a magnificent view of the park, which was rather quiet today.

Mycroft was sitting at round table for two in a rather secluded area of the room. With his right hand he was scooping beans, carrots and little bites of his chicken and with the other was tapping messages constantly. He kind of looked like a sick loved teenager writing nonstop to his crush.

Well… being the keeper of the secret broom cupboard of state, as Sherlock liked calling him apart from British Government, was like being in a constant relationship with Britain.

A waiter came and refilled his glass of wine and water. Mycroft gave him a small side smile and watched him leaving. He sighed and put the fork down to grab the glass of water.

The cold liquid washed his dry throat and he kept on tapping furiously.

''Can't they do something on their own?'', he thought, but in secret he liked that they all depended on him. He could set the rules of the game as he saw fit. And this exhilarated him.

When finally his conversation with the Prime Minister via cell phone ended, he put the darn thing back in his jacket pocket. He sat back in the comfy chair and sipped his wine. He lightly placed the crystal glass next to his plate, propped his chin in his fist and watched the people in the room, like they were some sort of an interesting spectacle.

A woman with heavy makeup and a big, thick pearl necklace around her neck was laughing hysterically at the jokes the young man opposite her made. They were almost identical, making people believe he must be her son.

Mycroft smirked as he deduced the woman with the clown mask for a face and the young man. Nice trick to fool someone, but certainly not him. The man had dyed his hair black and had worn contacts to hide his brown eyes and to appear like her son or nephew. The woman didn't seem to mind and certainly not the man, who judging by his watch and clothes was more of a gigolo rather than a young lover, trying to hide his liaison with the lady.

His phone vibrated to his chest and with a small sigh he answered.

''Holmes.''

''_Sir, I have the tapes you requested. I'll leave them in your office.''_

''Thank you, dear.''

He placed the phone back in his pocket and kept on watching the couple.

* * *

_09:00 p.m._

His day was over. It was nice when people were depending on you entirely. You could set their program according to yours. He always requested his meetings to end at 9 pm, unless there was a crisis.

He picked the two CDs Anthea had left him in the office and placed the one with _Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson _written on in his laptop.

The video showed Sherlock playing his violin, while in the background Joan Watson was carrying heavy boxes with her belongings upstairs and in the living room of 221B, all by herself. Sherlock was being rather gallant these days!

He smirked. ''And then he tells me I can't do leg work.'', Mycroft thought amused.

He pushed _fast forward_ watching as Sherlock kept playing while Joan made tea, cleaned the kitchen, and carried other smaller boxes and so on.

Then he watched them as they ordered take away food and sat at their armchairs quietly watching television, much to Sherlock's dislike, judging by his face.

The video ended and the DVD slot popped. Mycroft picked the CD and placed it back in its place. He then picked the next one. He looked at the name and closed his eyes for a while.

He opened them again decisively and placed the thin disk in the slot.

He watched DI Lestrade at her office. She hadn't slept in her home judging by her clothes. They were the same trousers, same blazer, same wrinkled black shirt, same everything. He kept watching her as she sipped her horrible coffees, one by one, knowing that they ruined her chances of sleep. He kept watching her as she was applying nicotine patches, but stole some moments during paperwork to smoke a cigarette.

''So unhealthy, Inspector.'', he mused.

He watched her as she was filling sheets and sheets of paper work with domestic abuse cases, petty thefts and so on, refusing to look at _her_ case, refusing to look at _his_ case.

''_I won't take your case, Holmes.''_

''_Don't be stubborn, Inspector. I'm giving you a solid lead.''_

''_I don't need your leads!''_

That phone call had occurred yesterday morning, followed by that night at the abandoned theater. He had come so close.

Mycroft stopped the video and opened another tab. He quickly tapped at some codes and entered the CCTV System. He pressed _zoom _and the small camera outside her office zoomed, giving him her image.

Lestrade was sitting at the window bench, the window open. She was holding a cigarette between her index and middle finger lightly. The cancer stick was burning slowly but she didn't seem to notice it. She was looking outside, her gaze unfocused. He could see the files of her Vampire Case along with the photographs lying on her desk.

The case has gone cold since they didn't have any lead and no one had come to recognize the victims. Sherlock was currently occupied with some cases he had given him and so he didn't bother the DI at this current point.

He pressed some other buttons, making the camera move a little.

''What are you thinking?'', he thought. ''Why can't you cooperate?''

He closed the tab and the video. He took the CD and threw it in the garbage bin angrily.

* * *

He panted heavily as Anthea stopped moving above him. They stayed there for some time, until she rolled on her back next to him. The silence of the room was disturbed from their ragged breathing, until it slowly died down.

Mycroft rolled off the bed and wore a nightgown Anthea had provided him with. She smiled at his image and then picked her Blackberry and started tapping. Her naked body had taken a warm reddish glow and her complexion suited perfectly against the dark blue of her sheets.

Mycroft headed for the bathroom, picking his clothes on the way.

After a quick shower he got dressed, looking impeccable as always and exited the room, to find Anthea still naked and still tapping.

''Your brother is at 221B with Dr. Watson. Everything is working well except for some minor explosion, due to an experiment with gasoline.''

Mycroft hummed as he worked the laces of his Italian handmade shoes.

''Also DI Lestrade is currently at the hospital for an injury in the head. Apparently there was a disturbance a while ago. An angry teenager attacked his mother with a porcelain clock and the Inspector protected her, receiving the blow instead. I thought you might be interested.''

Mycroft momentarily stopped and then continued with his laces. When he was done he got up and put his jacket and coat on.

''What makes you say that?'', he asked, as he sorted the collar of his black coat.

''I understand that you are interested in the DI, Mycroft.'', she replied indolently, still tapping at the small buttons of her phone.

The sound of his name coming from her lips did not surprise him. In their shared intimate moments he was always _Mycroft_ and she was _Anthea_. In public, he was _Sir_ and she was _my PA_ or simply _dear_.

''Not as much as you believe I am. But thank you for informing me. See you tomorrow at the office.''

''Goodnight.'', she replied without raising her head. She was always professional, maybe a bit too much. Their agreement had started about five months ago. At the end of the day, whenever they felt like it, they would share their moments together, but the next day Mycroft was her boss and she was his PA. No strings attached… simply sex.

* * *

_12:05 a.m._

He was standing outside the hospital, were currently Lestrade was hospitalized. He was waiting, leaning against his car, while his driver waited for him patiently. He made a mental note to give him a raise by the end of the month.

Mycroft saw the figure of the DI coming from the entrance. The street lights combined with those from the hospital, blurred his view and so he approached her, his umbrella hanging from his arm, swinging with every move he made.

Lestrade saw him and paused for some seconds. Then she moved again and stopped in front of him.

''Mr. Holmes.'', she said and made a curt nod with her head.

Mycroft inspected her. He had underestimated the wounds inflicted on her face. A deep cut adorned her forehead and was currently covered with a clean white bandage covering her stiches. The injury she received two days ago was still there, but had already started to fade. There was dry blood to the roots of her hair and her lips were bruised, making them appear plumper than they were in reality. His gaze was fixed on those lips that he almost tasted only two nights ago.

''What are you doing here?'', her voice pulled him back in reality.

''I heard about your injury.''

''So what? You came like the Knight in his Savile Row armor, with his mighty Black Mercedes to rescue me?'', she snorted. ''I don't need you Holmes. I handled myself perfectly well, even before I met you.''

Mycroft looked at her again from top to bottom. Some white porcelain shards were still stuck in her trousers, clearly from the case. He looked at her glazed brown eyes. She was drugged and obviously really weary.

''I am aware of the fact.'', he said coldly. ''But I am not here to protect you, merely offer you a ride to your home. I understand you did not come here by car.''

''No thanks. Goodnight Holmes.'', she replied quickly.

He watched her as she walked at a different direction, tucking her hands inside her coat pockets and walking hastily.

''Why have you abandoned the case?'', he asked loudly enough to be heard.

Jenny paused and turned just her upper body to look at him. ''I will solve the case when I have clues.''

''I gave you clues. Irene Adler is the clue, or better yet, the link you need.'' He sighed quietly and raised the tip of his umbrella to the level of his eyes. ''Think it over, Inspector.'', he said nonchalantly, his gaze fixed on the sharp tip.

He listened to her footsteps, as she resumed her walking and so Mycroft got in the car, driving away from the hospital.

* * *

_01:15 a.m._

Mycroft entered the security code and the doors of his manor house opened. He walked to the main hall and the warmth assaulted him pleasantly. The manor was dark, apart from some small lights on the walls, that gave the house a lovely soft glow and provided enough light for him to see.

Mycroft heard footsteps on the staircase and saw the lean frame of a man approaching him.

''Good evening, Sir.'', said the voice of his butler. The gentleman approached him and helped him with his coat.

''Good evening, Jarvis. How was your day?''

''The usual, sir. Would you like some lavender tea perhaps?'', asked Jarvis as soon as he was done collecting Mycroft's coat and briefcase.

''No, no… that'll be all. Is Sylvia back?''

''No Sir. Mrs. Holmes has not yet returned from the opera. But I believe she will be back soon.''

Mycroft nodded. ''Good. You can retire for tonight Jarvis. Good night.''

''Good night sir.'', replied the man and left to head for his room.

Jarvis Burton was Mycroft's valet since he was nine years old. A young man of five and twenty at that time, Jarvis has been and probably still was Mycroft's only true friend. A smart and capable man, Jarvis was there at every step of his life, tutoring him about pretty much everything. How to play chess, how to be composed, calm, intimidating when necessary and so on.

When Mycroft left his family's manor, he requested from his father and mother to take Jarvis under his employment something that Sir and Lady Holmes did not object at, since they knew their son's love and admiration for the valet. So Jarvis entered the service of his young master and became the butler of the house, running the estate and taking care of everything perfectly well, when Mycroft wasn't around, which was most of the times.

Mycroft walked the stairs that led to the upper floor and to his room.

* * *

Free from his jacket, waistcoat and leather shoes, with just his black silk nightgown on top of his trousers and shirt, Mycroft entered the library. The burning fire on the mantel warmed the room with its orange flames and scented it with a lovely aroma.

He closed the door quietly and went to stand in front of the bookcases. One was filled with CD, cassettes, vinyl discs. Years of collecting rare and accustomed disks from his travels, from flea markets or record shops. Hundreds of records of every kind of music.

With his long pale fingers he trailed the well orderly CDs and found his favorite one. He had found that disc by chance in a flea market in Iran about five years ago and what a delightful moment had been, when he beheld the simple black cover with the golden letters, which resembled the Arabic font, amongst bracelets with colorful stones and second hand books.

A year and a half before he found that CD again, Sherlock in a fit of anger and a drugged state, had broken every copy of this particular record Mycroft had. Mycroft had merely collected the smithereens and for some reason kept them in a box, believing that some day they would magically repair themselves.

This small plastic case held inside the music that could calm the British Government. The tranquility transformed into notes.

_Scheherazade, by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. _

He carried the case to the player, holding it carefully like a new born baby. He opened it and took the CD in his hands, carefully placing it in the player. He raised the volume knowing that he would not disturb, since the walls were soundproofed and listened to the glorious bass motif.

He opened the French doors that led to the balcony and closed them just enough for the music to escape the walls of the library. The fresh, cold air was a lovely change, making his head feel purified and calm. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

And there… there was the placid violin sound. Scheherazade enters the scene. In his mind, the entire orchestra was playing the suite.

When he was little, just seven years of age, his parents had taken him to see the performance in the London Opera House. His uncle, Tiberius Nathaniel Holmes was conducting the orchestra and it would have been rude if Mycroft wasn't present. So he had gone along with his parents, complaining about losing the new episode of Doctor Who and arguing with his father, that the theme of the famous Tv-show was far more appealing to him, than boring classic music.

How wrong had he been?

While he sat between his father and mother, touching her swollen belly with his small hand, trying to communicate with his little unborn brother he was enchanted by the music and the tale behind it.

How a woman changed a king.

How wit, intelligence and patience changed a stubborn, ruthless man, like the Sultan Shahryar.

How stories could tell us how to live.

Returning to his home that night, Mycroft had requested the volumes of _One Thousand and One Nights_. His parents of course could not say no to the eagerness of their son and the broadening of his horizons and his imaginations, with those tales, intrigued them.

Mycroft walked the small distance and with his hands, grabbed the elaborate iron banister to support his weight. He looked at the garden, which was neat and the grass carefully trimmed. The smell of the wet ground and the night flowers, lingered all over the grounds of the manor.

He closed his eyes and let the glorious music feel his ears. He breathed and felt the cold chilling his nose. In this library, his refuge, he could sort his brilliant mind, or his Mind Palace as Sherlock always liked to call it. He had always been the most dramatic of the two.

So in his Mind, he searched for a certain door. A simple, wooden door, so plain and unnoticeable you could almost miss it. He opened it and entered the space. Again… simple, plain and so full of secrets. Like the person it was created for; DI Lestrade.

The most common, yet most fascinating woman he'd ever met, which was such a paradox. She led a simple life, except for the moments when Sherlock was involved. Yet somehow she had managed to make Mycroft look at her twice.

_On the black road of life think not to find, either a friend or lover to your mind. If you must love, oh then, love solitude. For solitude alone is true and kind._

His favorite quote from the _Arabian Nights_ popped into his mind the moment he opened the door of Lestrade's section in his Mind. He loved solitude. Because it was the sole thing that was true and kind.

But desire? Ah, yes. Desire was not something anyone could control. Not even his great mind. Because desire crept inside the mind and controlled the body viciously. You could never escape.

And he desired. Many times. Desire for power, for knowledge, reason, for logic. But never for desire itself.

Of course the fact that he helped his beloved baby brother was a plus point to the simple DI, but this certainly wasn't the reason he desired her. On one hand she was beautiful in a very special way. But on the other, he hated her.

Yes, hate. She had cursed him multiple times, she was stubborn, audacious, and proud and she was resisting in his charms perfectly well. No woman or man had ever resisted. No one. It wasn't just his physical appearance; it was his way of handling people, manipulating them and leading them as he saw fit.

And another thing he hated about her was that she was responsible for that desire. Dark, hateful passion which kills you day by day; to want and not to have; to yearn and not poses.

His train of thought was disturbed by the sound of stiletto heel shoes on the polished wooden floor. He loathed that particular sound and knew perfectly well who caused this commotion.

Reluctantly he left the balcony and entered the warm room again. He securely closed the doors and slowly went to press _pause_. The music abruptly stopped. For some strange reason he never liked other people listening to his music. He felt like they were invading his personal space.

''How was _Aida,_ Sylvia? Did you like the performance?'', he asked nonchalantly, walking to sit to the plush armchair near the fire.

''No. I couldn't stand the screech.'', replied his wife and flopped on the couch next to him.

Mycroft winced. _Aida _was one of his favorite operas and he hated when people who couldn't appreciate good music judged this masterpieces.

''Her lament over her love for a man and her duty to her people and country, is hardly a screech, Sylvia dear.''

She tisked. ''I suppose those archaic things are your cup of tea.'', she replied in her husky voice.

''I suppose I'm the one with taste.''

Mycroft slowly turned his head to his right, just a little, to look at her better. Her slim long body was enveloped in a deep red dress with a cut that gave a view of her creamy left leg. She was wearing matching shoes and her dark blonde hair was falling freely and wavy over her shoulders. The ensemble was concluded with red lipstick and green eye shadow over her hazel eyes.

Sylvia Holmes, nee Wilde was a woman who could practically take the breath of every man away. Stunning and beautiful, she resembled the actress Lauren Bacall remarkably.

But Mycroft, although acknowledging that, was completely uninterested on his wife. She could parade around naked and still take no notice of her.

''I understand that my birthday gift to you was not satisfactory.''

''No. Next time stick with jewelry'', she said and rolled her small diamond earring between her thumb and index finger. ''You have a remarkable taste there.'', she grinned.

Mycroft hummed.

Sylvia started tapping her heel on the floor impatiently, the sound muffled by the carpet. ''You wanted to see me I believe? Why? It's two in the morning people usually go to sleep.'', she said and yawned.

''I prefer to make good value of my time.'', he said, giving her a half smile. ''I have a very important reason of calling you here.''

His tone was soft, yet very dark making Sylvia shudder. She knew that tone and she knew what she was about to hear, was not going to be pleasant. She sat up and narrowed her eyes to hide her distress. ''What is it Mycroft?''

''Is the name Oswald Reuben familiar to you?'', he smirked.

Sylvia's lovely face became pale. She tried to remain composed under the gaze of her husband but she knew it was hopeless. Mycroft was able to bring anyone down with just a look and a smile.

''Let me help you, dear.'', he grinned and stood. He went to retrieve a folder from a shelf and returned, throwing it gently on the coffee table in front of her. ''Oswald Reuben, age thirty, civil servant, working under my employment. Expert in computer hacking and quite a talent I must say. I'm not easily impressed you see and he caught my eye from the first time. Apparently, he did the same to you, didn't he?''

Sylvia wasn't even able to nod. She just stared at the closed folder, feeling cold droplets of sweat trickling down her forehead and the back of her neck.

''Anyway.'', continued Mycroft. ''Reuben, with little help from inside, stole my ID and hacked some accounts of mine. He withdrew a meaningful some of money and of course became a fugitive. Do you enjoy the story so far?''

His smirk wiped every life force Sylvia had in her features, something that seemed to satisfy him. She opened her mouth to utter some word, but she wasn't able to.

''But you see vanity is very strong. The man, believing that he could fool me, stole not only my money, but certain secrets of national importance. Some serious and very compromising pictures of a young, female member of the Royal Family, which you understand if they were published, they would cause quite a stir.''

''I don't understand how this affects me?'', said Sylvia breathlessly, trying to appear calm, but failing.

''Oh, I'm getting there dear.'', he smiled. ''You see, although an excellent hacker and I admit that I was foolish for not being extra careful, there wasn't any possibility that he could get past the security of those pictures. Those pictures, retrieved by a woman that my people were monitoring for a long time, were in my possession. So it got me thinking… how could such an insignificant man get past the security of my house?''

''Are you asking me?''

Mycroft's smiled was wiped from his face. He was now dead serious and he was even more terrifying. ''Oh no, I'm not asking because I already know. You, my dear, stole the mobile phone that contained the pictures and gave it to your lover.''

Silence lingered heavily over the room, the sole sound coming from the wood that cracked as it burned. Sylvia was biting the inside of her cheek, not wanting to burst into tears. ''So… what now?'', she stammered.

''It has already been sorted.'', smiled Mycroft. ''It took me about an hour to sent my agents to pick your lover from the airport. His disguise didn't fool them naturally. My money is back in my accounts and the mobile is secured. The pictures have been destroyed and so…'', he said and clapped his hands once. ''All set!''

Sylvia nodded weakly. ''Good.'', she said, biting back a sob.

''Well… not so good.''

She raised her head and looked at him through watery eyes.

''I have to do something. My credibility has been shaken because of that little incident. Not by the fact I couldn't solve it, because I did, but because my own wife almost caused chaos in Britain. Something must be done.''

Various scenarios went through Sylvia's head. She knew that Mycroft never did any ''leg work'', so someone else would take care of the matter. He heard him chuckling and averted her gaze from the fire to him. She was now angry.

''Is this funny?'', she growled.

''I can practically hear your thoughts. They are quite amusing. No Sylvia dear, I won't kill you. I will, however, get rid of you. For good. The divorce papers will be finalized tomorrow. The good thing about controlling everything, you see. I want you to leave this house by tomorrow midnight. Do not take anything that doesn't belong to you. I'll make sure that Jarvis sees to the preparations of your departure. And of course you will receive not a single penny from me.''

That wretched silence hanged from their heads like a guillotine ready to fall. Sylvia was afraid that if she spoke a single word, then everything would be lost. But she couldn't keep silent. The anger was boiling inside her. ''You think I'm the sole responsible for this?'', she cried, the tears now running freely on her perfect cheeks.

Mycroft looked at her coldly. ''No, but I've already taken care of the Reuben matter.''

''God you're such an ice man!'', she yelled and stood up. ''I don't mean this! I mean us!'', she continued, waving her hand frantically. ''Have you ever thought that if you'd showed a little sympathy, a little love I would never had done any of these?''

''The only reason we go married was because I wanted to secure my status and you because of my wealth. There wasn't any love in the first place, merely an agreement between two individuals. The role of the martyr doesn't suit you dear.''

''You freak! Have you got no heart?'', she yelled.

''I have, or else I wouldn't be alive.'', he scoffed. ''Don't pretend that my lack of affection drove you into this.''

''It did!''

''No, your greed did. And your belief that you could fool me. I wasted three years of my life into this marriage. I wasted one thousand and one of my nights and what do I get? A promiscuous wife who almost ruined me professionally.''

''Says the man with the string of lovers!'', she sobbed and gave him a vicious look. ''Who should I count? Margaret, Meredith, Louisa? Even Anthea your PA!''

''You did the same, dear.''

''It's not a fucking competition!'', she shouted.

The yelling didn't seem to affect Mycroft. He simply removed his golden band from his finger and placed it gently on the coffee table. ''I suggest you depart now.'', he said and looked at the view outside the French doors. ''Goodnight.''

She stayed there looking at him, her mouth open, breathing from there roughly. She sniffed. ''Alright then.'', she stated and walked to the door. ''I pity any poor woman who crosses paths with you, Mycroft.'', she spat. ''You are just an ice man with nothing to offer, but money. That's what you're only good at, honey. Nothing more.''

With that she opened the door and slammed it.

Calmly he stood up and went to stand in front of the shelf stereo. He pressed the _play_ button and the violin echoed once again in the quiet room.

He retrieved his cell phone from his trouser pocket and tapped a text to his assistant quickly. He disliked texts, but at this ungodly hour, he didn't want her to be alarmed.

_Proceed with the surveillance in Adler's house. – MH_

He knew she would see the text in the morning and arrange everything.

All it would take now was for the DI to cooperate.

He walked and sat again at his comfy chair, closing his eyes blissfully, letting Rimsky-Korsakov's Symphony take him in faraway lands, away from the beautiful, gloomy London, while Scheherazade narrated him tales of romance, passion and tragedies.


	7. Good Night, and Good Luck

_**CHAPTER 7: Good Night, and Good Luck.**_

The warehouse was cold and empty... just like those noir films where the lead character confronts his nemesis and comes alive after a fierce battle with guns… _if_ he comes alive.

DCI Fielding got out of the car and let his eyes adjust to the light that was provided by it. The luxurious vehicle parked a few meters away.

When Greg was able to see, he spotted a silhouette, standing near some shipping containers. He approached hesitantly, until he reached a safe distance of one meter between him and the man.

''Good evening, Chief Inspector Fielding. I am delighted you came. We have many things to discuss.'', said the strange man.

Fielding looked at him from head to toe. His opulent clothing showed Greg that this man was either a powerful drug lord, a ruthless business man or a mysterious and important figure of political power. Either way, whoever he was, his presence showed Greg that he was dealing with a man way above his pay grade and that, not only made him feel uncomfortable, but more anxious than he should be.

''Who are you?'', asked Greg in a low, steady voice.

''All in good time.''

''No!'', he snapped. ''You tell me who you are, now!''

The man smirked. ''Be calm, Chief Inspector. You are in no danger. I'll reveal my identity at the end of this... meeting. But for now, I want you to listen to me carefully.''

''I don't want to listen!'', cried Fielding. ''You brought me here, you kidnapped me-''

''I offered you a ride, actually.'', he chuckled. ''Kidnapping you would be much more messy and difficult.''

''Sod off, creep!''

Fielding turned and took a few steps before the stranger's smooth voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

''I know your little secret.''

Cold sweat ran to the back of Fielding's neck. He felt his breath accelerating to the frantic beat of his heart. His right hand made spastic twitches, as he felt the other man walking and then standing in front of him, giving him a grin that not only would make the Cheshire Cat jealous, but that would haunt him for many nights to come.

''Who... who are you?'', he stammered.

''I am the man behind every door!''

* * *

''You seem tense.'', said Lestrade, taking her place opposite Joan.

''Do I?''

''Yeah, pretty tense. Everything alright?'', she continued and took a bite from her sandwich.

They were sitting at the cafe near the Yard having a break. Joan had joined the DI after her first day at her new job.

''Yeah. Just tired.'', nodded Joan and sipped her tea. ''The job was nice. I am full for the next two weeks before the regular doctor returns from her maternity leave.''

''Good!''

''So, how are you?''

''Pretty tense too.'', said Jenny and left her half eaten sandwich on her plate, wiping some crumbs from her mouth with the tips of her fingers. ''Halloween is approaching!'', she said in a dramatic tone.

''I know!'', exclaimed Joan with delight. ''Mrs. Hudson wants to organize a party and I'm trying to convince Sherlock to have it in our flat, since it's bigger. Do you think it's too early? I mean we've been flat mates for only three weeks…''

''Yet you killed a man to protect him.'', thought Jenny, looking at the doctor fondly. ''No, it's not.'', she finally said. ''Good luck. But anyway, I personally hate Halloween. As the day approaches, all sort of nutters go out and do something. We have complaints about destruction of private property, streaking, harassment-''

She stopped talking, when her cell phone rang.

''Lestrade.''

Joan watched her as she furrowed her brows, bit her lip and then said. ''I'll be right there.''

''Murder?''

''Yes… we tend to have that as well, on Halloween.'', she sighed and stood, arranging her warm tweed blazer over her dark blue turtleneck, covering her neck with her scarf and collecting her things.

''Is it about the vampire case you have?'', asked Joan.

Jenny stopped moving and looked at her. ''I can't tell you.'', she said softly.

''Jen, why don't you let Sherlock help you?''

Jenny buttoned her blazer. ''Is this Sherlock's doing? Did he make you have coffee with me to interrogate me?''

''No, no!'', cried Joan. ''No, I wanted to have coffee with you. Is just that Sherlock has been insufferable for the past two weeks, saying how easily he could solve it.''

Jenny sighed and sat at the chair again, looking at the blonde. ''Look Joan….''. She sighed again, scratching her eyes. ''His brother asked me not to have Sherlock in this case.''

''So Sherlock was right. You're afraid of Mycroft.''

''I'm not afraid of Mycroft Holmes.'', she replied sincerely. ''But he was and still is very eager to keep Sherlock uninvolved. It's the first time he does something like that. I don't care about Holmes, he does not frighten me, but he worries about Sherlock. And when it comes to Sherlock, his intentions are always true and honest.''

Joan was silently listening to the DI.

''Please Joan, don't say any of that to Sherlock.''

Joan nodded. ''Fine.''

''Thanks. I have to go now. See you.''

And with that she made a dash to the door, leaving the smiling doctor to finish her tea and cake on her own.

Joan felt a vibration in her baggy jeans pocket and quickly retrieved her phone from it.

_Did she tell you anything? SH_

Joan thought of her answer for a while and then tapped.

_She didn't make it to the cafe. I went window shopping instead. I'll be home soon. JW_

* * *

Ah, reporters! The joy of arriving at a crime scene, pushing your way through microphones and cameras, trying not to get angry with their persistent questions.

Lestrade ducked under the yellow tape and approached Anderson and the other members of the team, while the reporters kept yelling questions at her.

''I never thought I'd say this, but I'm really glad I see a clothed body in this case.'', she said, as she stopped above the body and Anderson.

''Cause of death; sliced wrists. She didn't put up a fight, of course, she was drugged like the others and also the stake through her heart was post mortem.'', Anderson gave his verdict.

Jenny sat back on her heels. As always, she fixed her hair in a messy up do so they didn't get in her eyes and put her rubber gloves on, as she looked at the young woman thoroughly.

''This is different.'', she said, as she took the victims left wrist in her hands and examined it.

_Do no Evil. I suggest that if you don't want to find a fourth body with her arms cut off, accept the case._

Mycroft's voice popped in her head. ''Damn you Mycroft.'', she thought. The bastard was right... this was the forth monkey.

As the other victims, the poor girl was very beautiful, with pale skin, but bright baby blue eyes instead of green. Her hair was also ebony black. Lestrade let go of the girl's hand gently and gazed at her hair. ''Quite ruined…'', she mused as she saw that the girl's hair was burned with split ends. Also her eyes were smothered in dark eye shadow and her lips with bright pink lip-gloss.

Suddenly, she had an epiphany. A broad grin appeared on her face, making the rest of the team cast her bewildered looks.

''I dare say our killer slipped! This woman, ladies and gentleman, is a model.''

''How do you know?'', came the voice of her Sergeant from behind.

''Look at her. Tall, approximately ten pounds under her normal weight, gorgeous, hair fried at the ends, too much make up. Ergo, model. The dress is too impeccable, designer's clothing for sure and-''

She ducked once more over the girl and took her arm in her hands. ''You see this thin red mark here?'', she asked her team as she pointed the thin red line, above the one where the killer's knife had cut her.

''Is like from a bracelet.'', said Anderson.

''I bet this is one of those admission bracelets you wear when you attend those high fashion exclusive parties, clubs etc. I also bet it has the designers name on it. Her dress is upscale attire. She was definitely at a party.''

''How do you know these stuff?'', asked Henry Jackman.

''When did you get here to start with?'', asked Jenny who looked at him bewildered. ''Aren't you suppose to be at the Yard?''

Henry was sort of her protégé_. _He was actually her former DI's son who moved in London about three months ago to enter the force. He was still very young to actually solve cases on his own, so he was more occupied with occasional paperwork and mostly petty crimes, but he was helping on cases from time to time, since he was very keen. Henry was actually one of the few people, whom Sherlock liked. He was also an expert at handling and sometimes hacking accounts. ''For the sake of justice!'', as he always said.

''I've got the day off and I wanted to see the action.'', smiled the blonde haired man.

''Unless you can tell me who killed her you might want to pipe down.'', smiled Jenny.

''Then I guess you wouldn't want this.'', he said and passed her a small plastic evidence bag with a plastic black bracelet in it. ''You were right. That is the bracelet for that party. I found it in the trashcan down there.''

Jenny took the bracelet off the bag and saw its silver initials. ''R.J.'', she said out loud as she looked the object.

''Stands for the designers name, I guess.'', shrugged Sally from behind Lestrade.

''And I will ask again, how were you able to see that she is a model and these were designer's clothes?'', asked Henry eagerly.

''When you grow up with an older sister, who thinks the most important invention since the telephone is the Little Black Dress, it makes you an expert.'', she said as she bagged the evidence again. ''I can spot a model and a designer's clothing from a two miles radius like that!'', she continued and snapped her fingers. ''Speaking of which…'', she took her phone out and took several pictures of the dress, from every angle. ''Let's make a call to my dear sister. I sure she'll recognize the dress.''

''Lestrade, I don't think she is a model.'', said Anderson. ''Check out her teeth.''

Jenny looked the fangs of the girl. ''How could she be booked for a job or photoshoot, if she had those teeth?'', continued Anderson.

Jenny thought about it a little and then took her gloves off. She carefully touched her two front teeth and then her fangs.

''That's kind of disgusting.'', said Henry from above.

''Thank God you're not in my shoes then.'', she said and withdrew her finger. ''Those two are not real teeth. Are they veneers?''

''Probably.'', shrugged Anderson. ''I'll check''

''Check the others too… because if the teeth are removable, means the other three girls had veneers too and they might also were models. Which means all of them were modeling for the same designer, which means ladies and gentlemen that we have a lead.''

She got up, grinning. ''Damn, I'm still good!''

''It might also be a copy cat.'', shrugged Henry.

''Henry shut up! Don't spoil it!''

The team started collecting the evidence and the body. The reporters were still there, but Jenny wouldn't give them the satisfaction of an interview.

''Why didn't we see it the last time?'', asked Sally.

''Because we were occupied with throwing up at the sight.'', sighed Jenny. ''Besides we didn't have any evidence. Now we've got a dress…''

''Which, he probably didn't have time to remove.''

''Probably.''

''It kind of makes me wonder though, why no one searched for these girls. I mean, if they were models and were in a fashion show, someone had to search for them.'', said Sally confused.

''Fashion is a tough world, Sally… they don't give a damn if you are missing from a show. They just replace you.''

The reporters were told to leave the crime scene and finally left, since they knew no one was going to give them any information.

Jenny saw her colleagues collecting the last pieces of their equipment and made their way to their cars hastily, leaving Lestrade looking at the street.

''How I hate Halloween.'', she sighed.

* * *

''So I gathered you here to tell you about the last details and revelations.'', started Jenny in a dramatic tone.

Sally, Anderson and Henry were inside her office looking at the white board covered in pictures and notes.

''I want to have my break.'', nagged Henry.

''You can have it when I'm done; it's not even seven o'clock. Now, quiet.''

The young man sulked to his sheet and looked at the white board, filled with pictures and lines connecting each victim.

''As you see, I made a diagram of our locations. The first three, almost physically identical, killed and damned naked in the Highgate Cemetery.'', said Jenny. ''However-'', she continued and posted a picture of the fourth victim. ''The last girl was found clothed and damped outside a mall right in the heart of the city. She also had blue eyes, contrary to the other three who had green.''

''So we have a killer who doesn't have a particular type?'', asked Sally.

''It seems that the teeth and the way he killed them signify his perversion. The killer obviously had either a grudge against vampire lifestyle, or he is trying to confuse and direct us to the vampire underground scene. My guess is that he or she indents to trick us.''

''How so?'', asked Henry.

''My attention was first drawn by the unnecessary brutality and irrelevant way the killer acted.'', answered Jenny and posted another picture with three monkeys. ''See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil. The three wise monkeys, an old Japanese maxim. The first girl was gagged, the second had her eyes plucked off and the third had her ears cut off. If the killer has a sick imagination and thinks he's a vampire hunter, this wouldn't have been necessary. It would have been more logical to stuff their mouths with garlic and cut their heads off.''

''You watch too many Hammer Horror films.'', commented Henry amused.

''Which, dear Henry, proved to be very useful! Now, we have our fourth victim, who we found only two hours ago, with sliced wrists. And please welcome, the forth monkey, Do no Evil.''

She posted the forth monkey under their forth victim's picture and watched them, as they silently examined the contents of the board.

''Shall I continue?'', she asked and the other three nodded. ''Now… due to my, let's say experience, I guessed that the girls were models and I am very happy to announce that my guess was correct. I sent earlier the pictures of the dress to my sister and she gave me the details for our designer.''

Jenny posted the two remaining photos in her hands side by side. She then took the marker, connecting the designer with the girls, with four black lines and then writing down the name of the designer. ''Rose Hall, also known as Rebecca Jekyll, avant-garde designer and quite renowned for her gothic and eerie aesthetics. She is the designer of this particular dress.''

''Her name is oddly familiar.'', said Sally thoughtfully.

''It doesn't surprise me.'', shrugged Lestrade. ''Her mother is Patricia Hall, the cosmetics empress, owner of _Hall_ cosmetics line.''

Henry whistled. ''Mummy must have helped Rebecca, judging by how young she is.''

''Indeed.'', nodded Jenny and turned to look at the photo of the young designer. ''She is only twenty eight, yet she has achieved more than any other young designer in the past five years. Her mother's bank accounts of course kick started her career, but as my sister told me, she has an extraordinary talent. And I have to agree.''

They all turned their gaze to the picture of the dress. The deep blue, floor-length dress had a slashed neckline and the dark color made the model's fair skin look like porcelain. The black lace details here and there completed the picture of a contemporary, yet spooky design. It was quite a sight to behold.

''Anderson what have you got on the girls' teeth?'', asked Jenny after a few minutes of silent observation.

''You were right.'', answered Anderson. ''The fangs are non-permanent dental veneers. These were molded to their existing teeth, are removable and reusable and were made from a flexible resin material. There are Do-it-yourself kits on the market, so they might do the work on their own. It's hard to tell, since I don't have their dental record.''

''I don't think we'll find their dentist even if we wanted to. A very experienced makeup artist might have helped them, it will be a dead end if we start asking.'', sighed Jenny and continued. ''I'm pretty sure if we bring miss Hall in for questioning she will recognize the girls. They were her models after all, she was the one who picked them and-''

Her speech was interrupted, when she heard the commotion outside her office. Suddenly the door of her office opened with force and Sherlock Holmes appeared, with Joan Watson following him.

''Aha! I knew it!'', he cried pointing at Jenny. ''You are working on the case!''

''Sherlock please let's go. This is not good.'', said Joan, looking at the others quite embarrassed.

''I'm here to work Joan.'', he replied and approached the bοard. ''I see you have another victim. The reporters were right… for once.''

''Sherlock, follow me.'', said Jenny quietly, grabbing him by the lapel of his coat and practically dragging him outside her office.

* * *

''I do not appreciate it when you burst inside my office!'', she said, as she ushered him inside an empty interrogation room and closed the door behind. ''Sit down!''

Instead of Sherlock, Joan sat down, looking between her flat mate and the DI.

''I don't want to sit down. I want the case!'', he hissed.

''Tough luck, you don't get this one.'', she replied firmly.

''Oh boy.'', sighed Joan.

''I know what this is.'', he said and towered over her, but Jenny didn't back away. She crossed her arms and waited for him to continue. ''This is Mycroft's work isn't it?''

Jenny shook her head. ''Your brother doesn't have to-''

''I know my brother better than you or anyone else will ever know him. Did he threaten you?''

''What?''

''He did something, didn't he? What did he do?'', said Sherlock and grabbed her by the shoulders shaking her.

''Sherlock stop!'', cried Jenny and pushed him away lightly, making a step back to add more distance between them.

''I know he did something, otherwise you would have come to me straight away.''

''I'm not that useless!'', snapped Jenny.

''Sherlock please.'', pleaded Joan and stood, walking to stand next to the consultant. ''Come on, let's go.'', she said and grabbed his sleeve gently.

''I'm not going anywhere, until she tells me why she doesn't want me on this case.'', he said to Joan and turned to look at Jenny.

Jenny sighed. ''Look Sherlock.'', she said quietly. ''This has nothing to do with your brother. I simply don't want you in this one. The truth is I want to do this on my own, entirely. I wish that you can respect that and don't push the matter further.''

Sherlock remained silent and still, scanning her face. After such a long time, Jenny was able to mask her feeling and expressions well enough to, at least, confuse Sherlock.

''We'll see… Come on Joan.'', he said and lightly placed his hand behind the doctor's back, pushing her to the door. ''If you need me, you know where to find me.'', he said before he closed the door.

* * *

''That was rude.'', said Joan, once they were outside the Yard.

''Rude?''

''Sherlock.'', she sighed and stopped. ''You can't just burst into her office and demand her to give you her case. That was humiliating.''

''Was it?''

''Oh, for God's sake!'', she cried and resumed her walking, this time with quicker and longer steps.

Sherlock managed to catch up with her in two long strides. ''You are angry.'', he stated.

''No, not angry. Just frustrated.''

''Why?''

Joan stopped again. ''How can you be so obtuse?''

''Obtuse?'', he asked, sounding offended.

''Such a brilliant mind and yet you are so stupid when it some to social skills.''

The detective looked at her almost hurt by her words. ''Don't judge me too harsh, Watson.'', he said and hailed a cab.

Joan felt guilty for a few moments before Sherlock looked at her again with that intimidating gaze of his. ''Are you going to follow?'', he asked, as he opened the taxi's door.

''No, I… I have a date.'', she answered.

''Oh.''

''Yeah... I'll probably be back at night.'', she said and buttoned her jacket up, since the weather was quite chilly.

''Of course.''

''Are we leaving?'', asked the driver impatiently.

''In a moment.'', replied Sherlock and turned to his flat mate again. ''You're not properly dressed. This jacket is too thin.'', he pointed.

''I'll manage.'', she chuckled.

With fluid motions Sherlock took his scarf off and placed it around her neck. He made a double loop brushing her hair from the soft, blue fabric. ''You'll be better with that.''

Joan smiled and cleared her throat. ''Thanks. I… I have to go. See 'ya!''

Sherlock watched her, until she was lost in the crowded street and then entered the taxi.

''Is she yours?'', asked the cabbie driver cheerfully.

''I beg your pardon?''

''The girl. Is she yours?''

Sherlock looked at the cabbie through the rear-view mirror. ''Yes… she's mine.'', he finally said.

''Lucky bastard.'', he chuckled. ''Where to?''

''Belgravia please.''

He sat back comfortably, securing his coat collar around his sensitive neck, feeling slightly undressed now that his scarf was missing, but focusing on the task ahead.

It was about time to meet his dear brother.

* * *

Mycroft yawned as he entered the elevator. It had been a long day and it was going to end with some dull paperwork. Then he was going to return to his home, have a long hot shower and then sleep. Nothing was more appealing to him at this point, than his cozy king size bed and soft pillow.

The doors opened and entered the warm room.

''Too warm.'', he mused and dropped his briefcase on his desk. He took his coat and jacket off, leaving him with his dark blue waistcoat and trousers. He then sat at his chair, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his waistcoat, to be more comfortable. In his office, his personal space, he could afford to be a little inelegant.

His desk phone rang and he sighed frustrated.

''Yes dear.''

''Sir, your brother is here to see you.''

''Of course.'', he simply said and put the handset back to its place. What could possibly Sherlock want?

* * *

The doors opened and Sherlock entered walking to stand in front of his desk. When he reached it, he stopped and looked at his brother through narrow eyes. ''What did you do to her?''

''Good evening to you too, Sherlock.'', smiled Mycroft.

''What did you do to her?''

''To whom, brother dear?'', he asked innocently.

''Cut the theatrics Mycroft!'', snapped Sherlock. ''To Lestrade, of course! What have you told her? Have you threatened her again, because she won't give me access to her high profile case!''

Mycroft laced his fingers together. ''Did it never occur to you, that the Inspector is capable of solving her cases all by herself?''

''Do you think I don't know she wants my help?'', he hissed.

Mycroft smirked. ''Trust me Sherlock, she doesn't want you in this one.''

''And how would you know?'', asked the younger Holmes suspiciously.

''Sherlock.'', Mycroft tutted. ''It doesn't take a genius to realize that the Inspector wants to solve certain cases all by herself. She is a very proud woman and she needs to prove to herself, as well as her team, that she doesn't need you all the time.''

''Lestrade is not like that.'', replied Sherlock darkly. ''She doesn't care about fame, or proving her worth. She only cares about solving the cases and putting the criminals behind bars.''

Mycroft's lips curled into a small smile of amusement. ''How little you know women.''

''I'm certainly not like you.'', spat Sherlock. His eyes darted over his brother's hands. ''At least I'm glad you got rid of that bitch of a wife you had.''

Mycroft tisked at the use of his words, but Sherlock ignored him. ''That was the least smart thing you've ever done.''

''It served a purpose.'', he said quietly.

''Anyway… let's not forget the reason why I'm here. What have you told her?'', asked Sherlock again eagerly. ''Why don't you let me have this case?''

''Lestrade is the one who-''

''Lestrade is afraid of something! Of someone!'', he cried and circled the desk. He turned the chair swiftly, 'till the body of his seated brother faced his and then put his hands on either mahogany armrest, thus trapping him.

''I suspect that someone, is you.'', he said huskily.

Mycroft was looking at Sherlock calm as always, his face unreadable. Sherlock was trying to understand him. Although he could everything about everyone in seconds, Mycroft had always been a challenge to him and as much as it vexed him, he couldn't deny that his brother always won in the end.

''I told nothing to Lestrade, Sherlock. She simply doesn't want you in this case. Now, why don't you go to your lovely new home, with your dear new flat mate? I dare say, I find Dr. Watson most agreeable. And very charming. Don't you agree?'', he smirked.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes so much, until they were merely a thin gray line. ''I don't know what you mean.''

''Nothing Sherlock. Just praising Dr. Watson. I dare say she's quite the catch. Shannon Sawyer must feel very lucky to find such a sweet, young woman to date.''

Sherlock straightened his back. ''Who is he?''

''Don't you know Dr. Sawyer, Dr. Watson's new boss? You surprise me brother.'', he smirked.

Mycroft saw his brother tense for a few moments, before he scoffed and said. ''I do not care. It is a waste of space in my mind, so why would I care to know who he is?''

''Indeed. Why would you?''

''Stay away from them, Mycroft.'', he said finally and walked to the elevator's doors.

''I will stay away from Dr. Watson if you wish me to.'', Mycroft said, making Sherlock halt and turn again. ''I won't kidnap her again or offer her any money. She has proved her loyalty and intact character. I have no doubt that she is an excellent companion. However, as far as Inspector Lestrade is concerned… no.''

''No?''

''My business with Lestrade are my own matter and therefore I will visit and meet her as much as I please.''

Sherlock was standing still, like a statue. The only thing that indicated his was alive was his eyes, moving frantically examining his brother's form. Then suddenly, those gray orbs widened in realization. ''Oh!''

Mycroft raised a well groomed brow.

''Oh, you poor man.'', he said and gave a throaty chuckle. ''Oh this is perfect!''

Mycroft's fingers twitched slightly. ''Sherlock stop being so irritating.''

The younger Holmes kept smirking. ''Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life!'', he said and made a spin, raising his hands in the air. ''You really can't be! This is magnificent!'', he kept smirking as he walked to stand again opposite his brother. ''I'm so glad.''

''Oh, are you?''

''Yes! I'd love to see you being tormented just for once in your life. It will be such a nice change to see you lose control.''

Mycroft laughed hollowly. ''Do you despise me so much Sherlock?''

Sherlock stared at him impassively. ''It's not a matter of scorn. I just want you to know how it is to feel angst. How it is to feel your heart being torn out… just like I felt.''

Mycroft couldn't bear to look his brother. His gaze fell upon some documents sprawled around his desk. ''It seems I've failed you as a brother. I'm sorry.''

''Too late.'', replied Sherlock huskily.

His eyes were still fixed on his desk, unable to lift them. He heard Sherlock's footsteps as he walked to the elevator again and didn't raise his gaze from those sheets, until he was sure his was gone.

''Caring is not an advantage.'', he whispered.

But how couldn't he care?

* * *

The next day Jenny entered the building of Scotland Yard, while humming an irritating tune. It was funny how the songs you hated the most, always stuck in your brain and it was impossible for you to stop thinking about them.

As the elevator reached her floor, she saw Donovan waving at her from her desk.

''Have you brought her in?''', she asked eagerly as she walked to her Sergeant's desk.

''Yeah. Henry is with her.''

''Alright, thanks!'', she smiled and walked away.

* * *

Lestrade entered the room. She saw Henry standing at the corner of the room and the woman sitting in one of the chairs, looking straight to the one-way mirror. Her gaze was so direct and strong that you thought she could see through it.

''Henry, you can leave now.'', said Jenny softly and Henry nodded.

''She's a tough nut to crack.'', he whispered in her ear as he walked next to her. He then left the room, closing the door behind quietly.

Jenny walked and sat opposite the wound woman. ''Tea?'', she asked and pushed the paper cup.

The young woman looked at her with her soft brown eyes. ''Why not? It can't be as horrible as your coffee.''

''It's not.'', replied Jenny. She placed the manila folder she was caring on the gray desk and opened it. ''What shall I call you? Rose Hall or Rebecca Jekyll?''

''I'm the same person Inspector Lestrade. Choose.'', she said, shrugging her shoulders faintly and sipping her tea.

Jenny was holding a piece of paper with the woman's data in her hands. She raised her eyes and looked at her. ''If you don't mind then, I'll call you by your given name.''

''Of course.''

Jenny's eyes were moving between the lines on the paper and the form opposite her. Rose Hall was a rather delicate and ethereal woman. She was petite, with curly brown hair that went past her shoulders. She had styled them in a way that black ribbons were tangling through her locks and ended in a complex braid. She was wearing a long, dark blue airy dress, probably her own design and a simple black coat on top. The dark clothes made her fair complexion pop.

''You're examining me Mrs. Lestrade.'', she said amused in her girlish voice.

''It is what I do, miss Hall.'', replied Jenny. ''Are you aware as to why you are here?''

''Your colleague informed me.'', she nodded.

''Good.''

Jenny then produced the photos of the girls and lined them in front of Rose. The designer's dark eyes roamed over the grotesque pictures and to Jenny's great surprise she didn't seem disturbed. ''You seem oddly calm.'', commented the DI. ''Most people would have-''

''I'm not most people.'', she replied softly and looked at her. ''I know those girls. They are… were my models. I have booked them for all my shows. They were in my fashion show two months ago in Paris. When we came back, though…''

She trailed her index finger on the pictures of the three first victims. ''Those three were gone after the first two fittings. I assumed that they couldn't handle competition. It's a tough world Inspector.''

''I am aware.''

Rose hummed. ''I simply replaced them. Her though…''

This time she took the last picture in her hands. ''That girl was going to be my star. She was the one to wear my great design.''

''Give me their names please.'', said Jenny and took her pen from her pocket.

Rose gave her a small smile. ''I'm sorry Inspector. I don't remember the names of the models I hire. It's not my responsibility. My PA though knows. I can give you her contact information.''

Jenny looked at the woman. Her delicate appearance was such a deceit. On the inside, Rose Hall was a ruthless and unsympathetic human being. ''Miss Hall, do you honestly want me to believe that you didn't know about the murders, even though it made such a fuss on the news?''

Rose batted her eyelashes. ''I don't care about the news, Inspector. All I care about is my work. I am an artist. I want my thoughts to be pure. I don't want to waste my time in frivolous matters.''

''Frivolous matters?'', repeated Jenny. ''Four innocent girls were brutally murdered and you consider this a frivolous matter?''

Hall raised an eyebrow. ''Don't be so vexed, Inspector. I sympathize for these girls, but it's not my problem.''

''It's my problem though.'', she hissed. ''I want you to give me your PA's phone and name and the venue of your next show.''

''As you wish.''

Her serenity was pushing Jenny slowly to her limits. She knew that some people were acting like they didn't walk on this earth and she respected every eccentricity of every human being. It was what made people different and special. But she couldn't stand the impassivity of this woman! Even Sherlock, who was the most nonchalant person she knew, would have been moved and certainly would have been intrigued. Her though. She was just… empty.

After Rose had given her the information she wanted, Jenny stood and collected the pictures.

''Inspector, is there a chance I might take the dress now.''

Jenny's mouth gaped opened. ''Excuse me?''

''The dark blue dress. It is one of a kind, you see.''

''Except the fact that it has a huge hole in the front, it is evidence, miss Hall. It is ours now.''

This seemed to move Rose a little. ''It is one of a kind, it can't be replaced.''

''Clothes can be replaced miss Hall.'', she replied firmly and moved to the exit.

''Inspector, can I tell you something else?'', said Rose as soon as Jenny touched the doorknob.

''Of course.''

''You should not wear this tweed jacket again.''

''Why not?''

''It's brown and you have dark skin tone. It makes you look too… brown.''

* * *

''Do I look brown?'', asked Jenny frustrated.

''Eh?''

''Do I look brown?''

Henry blinked his eyes multiple times. ''Apart from your jacket you seem fine to me.''

''Rose Hall told me I look too brown!''

''I thought you weren't interested in what other people say.'', smirked Henry as he walked with her to her office and sat at the chair opposite her desk.

''Well… I don't.'', shrugged Jenny. ''But, God! That woman was bloody infuriating!''

Henry smirked. ''Anyway the reason I'm here is because we've got a problem.''

''Small or big?''

''Quite large.''

''Spill it.''

''I tried to hack the accounts of the venue Hall told us, the _Vampire Elite _where her next show is going to take place in three days.'', started Henry.

''Yeah, yeah, go on.'', said Jenny impatiently.

''Well I can't.''

''What do you mean you can't?''

''I mean I can't. The website requires codes that every member must own and if you don't have them, you can't enter. They have codes for everything, the clients are so big that they practically built a digital Fort Knox and I can't get past it.''

Jenny remained silent for a while, lacing her fingers together and looking at the papers on her desk.

''Unless we have someone who owns a code name and a password we are never going to enter this club.''

Jenny lifted her head and looked at Henry. ''I know exactly who has the codes''

* * *

''Inspector, may I help you?'', greeted Anthea politely, without averting her gaze from her work. She was sitting behind her desk, next to the door of the elevator which led to Mycroft's office. The woman was tapping again furiously but this time on her laptop's keys.

''I need to see your boss'', sighed Jenny and tucked her left hand further inside her jacket's pocket, the other gripping the strap of her bag firmly.

Anthea finally looked at her from head to toe and then quickly wrote something, probably an email to Holmes asking for permission.

''He's expecting you'', she simply said, after a few moments and pushed the code to her keyboard.

The doors opened and Jenny got inside getting herself ready for the meeting.

* * *

Almost three weeks had passed, since the incident in the abandoned theatre and their last meeting outside the hospital.

Jenny pushed the images of these two nights to the back of her head and walked inside the luxurious office.

''Good evening Inspector.'', saluted Mycroft.

That man was looking like a bond villain from head to toe. The fire that burned in the mantelpiece behind his desk, his impeccable suit; the only thing that was missing was a Persian cat in his arms.

''I am pretty sure you know why I'm here'', she said, as she walked to stand in front of his desk. ''I need certain codes.''

He looked at her and gave her his distinctive half smile. ''I see that you finally decided to cooperate. How so?''

Lestrade clenched her fists. ''Not exactly.'', she shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. ''I'm sure you saw the news about the fourth victim.''

''I have.''

''Well, since we have a new clue and it seems that your Adler is a possible suspect of the case, I believe that our paths cross.''

''Believe me, Adler is the one you should look for.", he said and stood up, heading for one of the bookcases around the walls. He took a manila folder from a shelf and approached her. ''Here are the names and the codes that you will need. I took the liberty of giving you an alias that might prove very useful. There is also a wide variety of information on Alder.''

She took the folder and stepped back a little, not forgetting the last time. She decided to occupy herself by looking at the codes.

''Camille Maurer, Private Investigator.'', she read and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. ''Too obvious, isn't it? Irene Adler is not going to talk to me if she knows I'm a detective.''

''It's so overt, it's covert.'', he smiled.

Jenny simply sighed and kept reading.

''You might want to sit down.'', he said.

''What?''

''Please…'', he continued and motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk. The DI sat down, her eyes not leaving the file, trying to concentrate on the data and pictures in front of her and not to the elder Holmes, who was standing over her.

She sighed. ''Could you please stop looking at me?'', she asked, as politely as she could manage.

''Forgive me… Would you like to drink something?''

''It's a bit early for me.''

''Not for me though… I need one after that horrible meeting I had.''

Jenny merely nodded and kept reading, as she listened to Mycroft going to his mini bar, filling a glass of scotch and coming to sit opposite her.

''Concentrate!'', she thought. ''So… Irene Adler.''

The woman was fairly attractive, with an aristocratic beauty. High cheekbones, thin lips, green eyes, definitely gorgeous figure. Mycroft's reports revealed not only her profession as a Dominatrix, but also a fairly substantial number of other activities.

In the course of two years she had opened her own BDSM club right in the heart of the city, with an exclusive clientele.

Apart from her club, she was also a partial owner of the elite club _Vampire Elite, _where Rose Hall's new fashion show was going to take place on Halloween night_. _She owned 45% of the company's profits and she was more of a socialite rather than an entertainer.

Jenny decided to continue her homework at the Yard. It was still nine o'clock in the afternoon and with the codes in her possession, she would look more carefully in the woman's website, as well as her club's. Maybe, if she was lucky enough, she would spot familiar faces, or possible suspects.

She grabbed her satchel and stuffed the file inside, squeezing it between other papers, keys, phone and other useless things forgotten in there.

''Your body language indicates that you feel very uncomfortable.'', said Mycroft suddenly.

''You don't say.'', she chuckled awkwardly. "I must be off. Thank you."

As she stood, she felt his hand on her arm. She flinched to his touch. ''What?'', she asked jerkily.

Mycroft stood up. ''Too close.'', she thought and gripped the strap of her bag tightly.

''Inspector, I feel the need to apologize for my past actions.'', he said smoothly. ''I don't hate you. If I feel something for you is infinite respect and gratitude, for what you've done for Sherlock. I am a human after all and humans tend to say certain things that they don't always represent their actual beliefs and feelings."

Jenny nodded and her gaze rested on the floor. ''Fine.'', she said and draped the bag over her shoulder. She took a few steps to the elevator, before she stopped and turned. ''Actually, you know what? I don't really care.'', she shrugged.

Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows. ''I'm sorry, I don't follow you.''

''I really don't care what's your opinion of me. I don't care whether you like me or hate me.''

She sighed deeply and continued. ''After this case, which I hope to solve without further incident, I want Sherlock to be the only reason you and I will ever cross paths. I don't want you to kidnap me ever again; I don't want you to interfere in my work. I want us to remain strangers. I want you never to bother me again.''

Jenny blamed the flickering light coming from the fire. She blamed the weariness and exhaustion. She blamed the lack of sleep. For it wasn't possible that she just saw Mycroft looking hurt. It was a mistake… it had to be!

His face after four seconds, of what she assumed to be a look of pain in his eyes, became the same old, cold mask. ''As you wish Inspector. Good night, and good luck.''


	8. The nightmare before Halloween

_**CHAPTER 8: The Nightmare before Halloween.**_

''Really Joan? Pumpkins?'', scoffed Sherlock as he saw Joan lifting one of the three heavy pumpkins to the table. ''Careful!'', he cried, quickly covering his Petri dishes. ''You will spoil my experiments with your bloody decoration!''

''So sweet.'', smiled Joan sarcastically. ''Now get out of the kitchen! I need to use the table!''

''I'm certainly not going anywhere.'', he said and looked inside his microscope.

Joan sighed. ''Sherlock, I hardly ever use this kitchen. For once I beg you.''

Sherlock looked at her, his eyes narrow. ''How long is it going to take?''

''About two hours.''

He groaned in frustration. ''You can play the violin.'', said Joan encouragingly. ''You hardly ever play when I'm around.''

Sherlock looked at his flat mate thoughtfully. ''Alright.'', he said and stood up, heading for his violin.

Joan carefully collected his experiments and microscope and gently placed them on the counter. She then put an apron to protect her clothes and took a knife, starting carefully to slice the top of the first pumpkin.

''Any requests?'', she heard Sherlock asking in his baritone voice.

''I don't really have one.'', shrugged Joan, not averting her gaze from her work. ''Something romantic perhaps.''.

''Beethoven's Violin Romance No. 2 it is then.'', he said and touched the strings with the fiddle stick.

The crystal clear sound of the notes filled the room and Joan smiled.

He suddenly stopped.

''Is Lestrade coming tonight?''

''I think she has another party to go to first. She might come to ours later. Keep playing.''

He hummed thoughtfully, but obeyed his good doctor's wishes.

* * *

_One day earlier__._

Lestrade arrived at Knightsbridge and the sight of the magnitude of the house made her feel so small. She parked outside the iron gate and got outside.

The weather was rather chilly this morning, so she buttoned her coat up and walked to the door, gazing at the flower beds on either sides of the path that led to the house, which were covered with lovely soft purple and deep blue pansies.

She rang the bell and waited.

''_Yes?''_, came a firm voice from the intercom.

''This is Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I wish to speak to Mrs. Hall about an urgent matter.''

The man remained silent and Jenny waited for him to inform Patricia Hall of her arrival and then answer the door. She took a look at her watch estimating that she would probably wait for at least five minutes outside the door.

* * *

The man answered in eight minutes precisely and welcomed her inside the house.

''Mrs. Hall will receive you now.'', he said, making a move to help her with her coat.

Jenny thanked him and after that followed him inside the luxurious space, trying not to look around bemused, like a little kid would do while looking at a Christmas tree.

''The DI is here, ma'am.'', said the man as soon as they entered the living room.

''Thank you Carson, you may go.''

The man, Carson, nodded and closed the door behind him. Jenny saw Patricia Hall rising from her cream colored fainting couch to greet her.

''Good morning, Inspector Lestrade. I'm Patricia Hall.'', said the woman shaking her hand gently. ''Please, sit.''

Jenny sat on the couch and Patricia lay down on her fainting couch again. Jenny tried not to roll her eyes at the sight. She was in a living room as big as an entire apartment, sitting with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Jacqueline Bisset and was surrounded by furniture that could pretty much have come from the Versailles.

''Those people, really, do not walk on this earth.'', she thought. ''I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Hall, but I came here for a very important matter.''

''Does it have to do anything with those murders on the television?'', she asked anxiously.

''Yes. Four models that worked for your daughter were killed in a rather gruesome way.''

''I know.'', she sighed dramatically and reminded Jenny of some Romantic French paintings, with ladies laced up in corsets so tight that they might faint. She would probably faint herself, judging by the looks of her.

''You daughter was kind enough to instruct me. She unfortunately doesn't remember their names, so she told me to come here and talk to her PA, Greta Crowley. I presume she is your assistant too?''

''Oh yes. Dear Greta; she's always been a great help. When Rose began her career, Greta was there to guide her and made every possible connection. She is a God sent.''

Jenny smiled. ''Could I have a word with her? It's important. I have to inform the families of those girls, you see.''

''Of course, of course. She's in my study.'', she chirped and stood, walking quickly and leaving the room.

Jenny sighed and flopped on the pillows, waiting patiently.

* * *

After a while Patricia Hall entered with the PA. ''Greta this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. Inspector, Greta Crowley.''

Jenny turned and saw a remarkably tall woman in her mid forties looking down at her coldly. She shook her hand and sat on the couch.

''I'll leave you two alone.'', said Patricia and left the room quietly.

Jenny sat next to the PA and produced a file from her satchel. ''I'm sorry to bother you Mrs. Crowley. I understand you're very busy with tomorrow's the fashion show and all, but it is very important to give me certain names.'', started Jenny and opened the file.

''Of course.'', replied Greta in her deep voice.

''I hope you have a strong stomach.'', said Jenny encouragingly and showed her the four shots of the models.

For the second time this week Jenny witnessed such apathy in the sight of such gruesome pictures. The PA's eyes were roaming over the photos and then she produced her Blackberry quickly tapping a few buttons and then, still looking at the screen, returned the pictures to Lestrade.

''The names are Gwen Matthews, the first girl, the second is Lauren Audrey and the third Georgia Wilson.'', she said in a monotonous voice, like she was repeating a particular boring story.

Jenny had quickly produced her Moleskin and pen, writing down the names hastily.

''They weren't real models.'', continued the raven haired. ''Rebecca saw them in a fashion show about six months ago. They were waitresses, but she saw potential in them. If only she knew.''

The scoff didn't escape Jenny's notice. ''What do you mean by that?''

The woman's icy blue eyes looked at her, like she asked the silliest question. ''The girls couldn't walk a straight line, that's what I mean.'', she tutted. ''But, I guess she liked their looks.''

''You sound jealous.'', smirked Jenny and finally Greta looked at her with another emotion apart from boredom. Anger, perhaps.

''I'm not jealous, Inspector. I was angry though, because I was the one who had to train those girls. Took me three months, but in the end I made it… as always.''

Jenny hummed. ''And the forth girl.''

Greta looked away from her Blackberry. ''Fanny Parson. Poor girl.''

''Why do you say that?''

''She was a very talented young woman. Not only beautiful, with an excellent walk, but smart… very smart, indeed. At tomorrow's show, after its conclusion, Patricia indented to name her the face of her new perfume campaign.''

Jenny stopped writing. ''Really?''

''Yes.'', shrugged the PA. ''It doesn't matter now, though. Our campaign will be postponed for a month, since we can't find a new model. You can imagine the loss. Millions of pounds.''

''Yes… it must have sparked jealousy amongst the other girls.''

''Of course it did. It's a competition after all.''

''It must have also sparked animosity. Anyone who was stocking Fanny or threatened her?''

''No… she came here from Scotland and she didn't have any family, as far as I know… but then again, it seems I didn't know everything after all.''

Jenny raised her head from her notebook. ''What do you mean?''

Greta's soft smirk never left her lips. ''Nothing Inspector. Just some simple visits from a certain woman in the middle of fittings, photo shoots etc. They sometimes would vanish in the dressing rooms and we would lose Fanny for almost an hour.''

Jenny nodded and closed her notebook, placing it inside her bag, along with the file. ''Was that woman Irene Adler?''

The brunette seemed bothered by her question and swallowed. ''No… I- I mean I'm not certain. What about her?''

''I want to know more about her.'', shrugged Jenny and crossed her arms and legs, sitting back comfortably.

''Are you interested?'', she asked temptingly.

''Very much.''

''She's very skilled with her tongue, as I was told.'', chuckled the PA darkly.

Jenny maintained her poker face and continued. ''So I take it, you don't know her personally.''

''No. I only met her to arrange the venue. Nothing more. I know just as much as you do.''

''Alright.''

They both stood up and Jenny shook Greta's hand. ''Thank you for your cooperation and your time, Mrs. Crowley. Good day.''

''Good day to you too, Inspector.''

* * *

When Greta returned to the study, she took her phone in her hands and quickly tapped.

_She came. I told her everything you told me too._

* * *

His phone beeped, signaling an incoming text. With idle motions he checked the text, a soft smirk appearing on his lips.

''More wine, sir?'', asked the waiter politely.

''Of course.'', he smiled broadly and waited for him to refill his glass. ''Please, fill the other one too. I'm expecting someone.''

''Of course, sir.''

The moment the waiter left, the Woman walked to his table.

''James, so nice to see you.'', she smiled.

Moriarty stood and kissed her extended hand lightly.

They sat down, the Woman sorting her perfect white attire and him his Westwood suit.

''I have a certain surprise for you, dear.'', he smirked and passed her a photograph.

Irene took the picture in her hands and smirked. ''Oh James. You do know how to make a woman happy.''

''One of my many talents.'', Moriarty said and sipped his wine.

''Who is she?''

''Do you like her?''

''Very much.'', she purred.

''Her name is Genevieve Lestrade, DI, one of the best the Yard has to offer. I was wondering if maybe you could take care of her tommorow.''

Irene quirked an eyebrow. ''Define _take care of._''

''Nothing serious. I don't want her dead. Simply warn her in the way you know best.''

''She'll be tomorrow at the fashion show, then?'', asked Irene.

''She will… undercover probably, but I am sure this will not be a problem for you.''

''I have a keen eye for beauty.'', she chuckled. ''May I ask why you're interested in her?''

Moriarty took another sip, liking his lips as he placed the glass softly on the table. ''You know what they say; Behind every great man there is a great woman.''

''Of course.''

''Well I want the first great man gone. Later I'll deal with the younger one, but for now… it's all about Mycroft Holmes.''

At the sound of the name, Irene pouted her lips.

''Don't worry Irene. Your pictures might have been destroyed, but this plan will surely work.''

''I trust you completely James, you know that. But the pictures would have granted me some… convenience.''

''But think; you might always try again. Maybe with a much younger and more fair female next time.''

Irene chuckled.

''And think, that this is going to be more fun.'', he continued.

''Indeed.'', replied Irene thoughtfully. ''Destroying the sole woman that caught the Ice Man's interest is quite tempting.''

''And wait 'till we get to the younger one. Mind sharp as a razor, but quite blunt when it comes to the fair sex.''

''And what do have you got in store for him?''

''You'll see.'', he said and winked at her. ''But let's focus on Mycroft Holmes.'

Irene smiled and raised her glass. ''To your intelligence.''

Moriarty mimicked her. ''To the Holmes brothers and their wonderful women!''

* * *

**This is a really short chapter which I posted instead of the one I intended to post on Halloween, but it's quite important for the next one.**

**I have to admit that, although I loved Andrew Scott's performance as Moriarty, I've always preferred Moriarty the way Conan Doyle pictured him in his books. Like the confident, controlling brain of the underworld, who of course, if Sherlock Holmes meddles further in his plans, is completely willing to kill him. So, since this is FanFiction, my Moriarty will be a little bit of both!**

**And of course, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!**


	9. Something Wicked This Way Comes, Part 1

_**Chapter 9: Something Wicked This Way Comes, Part 1**_

Mycroft stretched his long legs. He picked the engraved, crystal glass full of cherry brandy from the small table next to the couch and sipped.

The luscious, dark red liquid burned his throat, with its sweetness, as it made its way to his whole body, relaxing and warming him up.

He closed his eyes, tipping his head back, liking his red lips from the last droplets.

The velvet voice of Billie Holiday, coming from his laptop on his desk, warmed him even more.

As the saxophone played, accompanied by the golden voice of this exceptional woman, the doors opened.

''Your pretty little thing downstairs made me wait too long, Mycroft.'', she said. ''I don't like being ignored.''

The sound of her heels was muffled by the Persian carpet, as she walked and sat at the other end of the couch.

Mycroft pried his eyes open, turning his head just a little to see her sitting there in a dark blue tight dress with matching heels.

That woman was gorgeous… she could take away the breath of everyone. But not his…

''I had more important things to attend to, Irene.'', he drawled. ''And I believe you actually enjoy the company of my assistant.'', he said, his lips tilting slightly upwards.

''You know me too well, Mycroft.'', she purred. ''I do indeed like her very much… but I guess you have her round your thumb as well, haven't you pretty boy.''

He tutted.

''Anyway.'', she continued dismissively. ''I guess I'm here for more important things than your PA.''

He carefully placed his glass to its former position. He sat up, re-crossing his legs and looking at her. ''Have you got what I asked for?''

Without a word, Irene produced a small flash drive from her black, leather Chanel bag and gave it to him. ''All you need to know about Gregory Fielding is in here. It didn't take me too long to get what I wanted.'', she chuckled.

Mycroft held the small object in his long, pale fingers examining it as if it was a precious, uncut diamond.

''Is that all?''

His eyes wandered from his hand to her elegant form. ''For now…'', he said simply and put the flash drive next to his glass. ''You have immunity.'', he chuckled.

He flopped himself back to the leather couch and closed his eyes again. ''It must be hard though… to follow two bosses.'', he commented.

She shrugged innocently. ''What can I say? I like a good challenge.''

''I guess that's what makes you so good.''

Like a feline, Irene crawled to his side, until her knee bumped to his. ''I'm good because I'm good… not because of the challenges.'', she smirked, her fingers making idle circles on his knee.

Mycroft opened his eyes slowly. He looked at her fingers, his crystal blue eyes slowly roaming over the curves of her body until their eyes clashed. ''I suppose you're right.''

''Oh...'', she purred. ''I love it when you compliment me.''

Mycroft leaned forward, hooking his forefinger and thumb to her jaw, bringing their faces at the same level. ''I'll keep doing it, if you keep me happy.'', he said in a husky voice.

Her eyes closed at the sound of his soothing voice, her lips slightly parted, until she heard him huff and felt him removing his cool fingers from her.

She heard him rising and walking to stand in front of his grand desk. ''I guess that is all for tonight?'', she asked, slowly opening her eyes.

''Yes. You may go.''

''I must say, that girlfriend of yours is very intriguing.'', she said temptingly, as she rose, sorting her blue dress, her bag in her elegant hands.

''She is not my… girlfriend, as you very well know.''

''She's a tough nut to crack, I give her that.'', she continued, walking to stand in front of him. ''Quite arousing… you won't mind if I try to make her… change, would you?''

He cast a disapproving glare at her direction. ''You won't lay a hand on her.''

''Oh, I know that… unfortunately.'', she sighed. ''I'm just wondering if she's going to appreciate your interference with her career. She's quite proud, our girl.''

''She's not yours, Irene.''

She smirked, her right hand slowly caressing the lapel of his jacket. ''Pity. I'd like to tie her up to my bed, teach her a few tricks.'', she chuckled. ''But she isn't yours either, is she? It must be killing you.''

He raised a well groomed eyebrow. ''I think it's time for you to go.''

''Fine.'', she smiled. ''I guess I'll see you after my meeting with her?''

''No… I'll contact with you, when necessary.''

''Good night, Mycroft.''

She walked to the elevator doors, before his voice stopped her on her tracks.

''I understand that it is difficult for you to serve two masters, Irene and I find it remarkable.''

Irene turned to look at him.

''But I need to remind you that if you betray me in any way, Moriarty will be the least of your problems.''

Her green eyes clouded with genuine fear. She simply nodded and walked inside the elevator, pressing the button with force… anything to get her out of there.

* * *

Once Adler was gone, Mycroft smiled satisfactorily.

One of the small, guilty pleasures in his job was seeing what his power did to others.

He took two long steps and picked the small flash drive and his glass from the table, where he had left them.

Once he made himself comfortable in his chair, he put the small item in the USB slot and his eyes scanned the PDF archives and pictures that appeared rapidly.

Billie Holiday was still singing… _Love me or Leave me_.

Simultaneously he opened a new tab, entered a code and turned the volume up, just a little…

He heard the people in DCI Fielding's office talking. A woman and a man.

''This isn't good.'', he thought, pouting his lips slightly.

''_Detective Inspector Lestrade, I presume.'', _came a slow voice from the laptop's speakers. A very familiar voice, indeed.

''Oh, you want to play dirty Fielding, don't you.'', he mumbled and picked his mobile phone.

* * *

Lestrade was drumming her fingers on her right thigh impatiently, while waiting outside DCI Fielding's office. She was sitting on the uncomfortable office couch right next to the door.

These offices, that occupied the fifth floor of Scotland Yard, were for high ranking members of the force, only.

By this time of the day, all of them were empty, except for Fielding's office, who was currently inside, making a very important call.

This would be the only reason why he had called her in such a mood and then made her wait outside.

''Lestrade!'', called the DCI behind the closed door, startling Jenny. She stood, wiping a thin film of sweat that had formed in her palms and opened the door.

Jenny entered the much larger office and closed the door.

Although simply decorated, the office was much more pleasant that Jenny's. The windows were bigger and the view they provided was far better than the glimpse of an alley full of garbage bins she had to endure every day.

''Sir.'', she nodded and made her way to stand in front of his desk.

Greg threw her a strict look that made her furrow her eyebrows. ''Greg... is something the matter?''

''Lestrade, sit down.'', he said sternly.

''Thank you, I'd rather stand up.'', she replied quickly, tucking her hands inside the hip pockets of her black, flannel trousers.

''Oh please.'', he said sarcastically. ''Do sit down. Chief Superintendent Brahms will be here in a minute.''

At the sound of those three words, Jenny paled. Everyone knew the DCS Stephen Brahms. And when you heard his name it was bad news indeed.

''Greg, what's-what's all this?'', she stammered.

''You'll see.'', he said, giving her a grin.

The door opened and the man came in.

For the power and influence he was holding in his hands, the man was awfully small.

Her 5'9'' of glory though were lost in his 5'5'' chubby body that carried a massive brain and an even bigger ego.

''Detective Inspector Lestrade, I presume.'', he said in that sluggish voice of his. He walked and sat in the chair across the desk, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his purple-brown Harris Tweed trousers. He then crossed his legs and took a file from Fielding's desk.

He raised his golden brown eyes to look at her. ''Sit down, please.'', he said and Jenny obeyed.

''Now, Inspector…'', he started nonchalantly, opening the file. Jenny saw his eyes roaming extremely quickly over the printed lines and then continued. ''I was informed that tomorrow night, you're to pose undercover at a club, in order to collect information and probably arrest a possible suspect in your current case. Am I wrong?''

Lestrade swallowed, feeling her throat like it was made out of cotton balls. ''No, sir.''

''I also understand that you're going on your own, without our permission and without informing DCI Fielding or your team. Correct me if I'm wrong.''

Jenny risked a quick glance over Fielding. It came as a huge shock to her that he actually seemed pleased.

''Inspector?'', the slow voice of DCS Brahms brought her back to attention.

''Ah- No, sir. You're not wrong.'', replied Jenny firmly, looking him straight in the eyes. If one thing Brahms hated was not having full attention, whenever he walked in a room. So Jenny gave him exactly what he was asking for.

''Lestrade, do you understand how serious this is?''

His so calm, drowsy voice was driving Jenny insane. ''I do, sir… but you have to understand, that the clues and suspect came to the light suddenly. I didn't have time and forgive my audacity, but the victims and their families are more important to me than keeping up with the paperwork.''

Silence ensued for a few moments, which was not good… at all!

''Have you informed the families?'', asked Fielding suddenly.

''No, sir.'', replied Jenny somewhat bitterly. ''All of the girls were orphans. That was also something that cemented my suspicions and made me take action.''

The DCS hummed. ''I know you, Inspector. You are very capable indeed. I guess your vanity made you feel secure enough not to inform your superiors.''

Jenny tried not clenching her fists. ''It's not vanity, sir. It is justice and-''

''And what, Lestrade?'', spat Fielding from the other side of the desk, making Jenny turn to look at him with surprise.

''As I said, the clues appeared suddenly!'', cried Jenny, finally losing her patience. ''It's a simple detection of the person I'm looking for, nothing more.''

''Inspector, do you understand that you're facing suspension?'', came the slow voice of Brahms opposite her.

''Sir, please.'', pleaded Jenny, but she was interrupted by Brahms' phone.

With idle moves he picked the Blackberry from his pocket and answered it.

''Brahms… Holmes! Long time no see, old chap.''

For the first time, at the sound of the name, Jenny's heart fluttered. Without realizing it, a small smile of hope cracked in her mouth.

With the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a furious Fielding, but chose to ignore him.

''I see…'', said Brahms speculatively. ''Aha… Fine. Of course. I'll see you at the Diogenes then. Ta-ta.''

He pressed the button to end the call and pocketed the machine back to its place.

All three of them remained silent. Brahms was looking at the files again, Jenny was biting her inner cheek nervously and Fielding was practically fuming.

''Well Inspector… It seems to me that you have a strong ally.'', he addressed to Jenny and this time Jenny saw what appeared to be admiration and respect in his eyes.

''How sure are you about this suspect of yours?''

''Ah- quite sure, sir.'', she nodded.

''Hmm… if Mycroft Holmes considers her a dangerous woman, then I suggest you look into the matter.''

He stood and Lestrade did the same. ''Proceed with your undercover operation. I wish you good luck.''

Brahms extended his hand and Jenny shook it firmly. ''Yes, sir.'', she said, making a curt nod. ''I will.''

''Fielding you have nothing to worry about from now on.'', continued the short man, turning to look at the surprised DCI. ''Evening.''

And Brahms left the office, as quiet as always.

* * *

The other two remained silent for a few moments before Jenny's head snapped and her eyes shot daggers to her DCI. ''What the fuck was that about?''

''You have the nerve to ask me what was that about?'', hissed Fielding, moving quickly to shut the door. ''You are making plans with Mycroft Holmes behind my back!''

''I'm not making any plans behind your back, or anyone's back!'', she shouted, unable to contain herself any longer.

''What is your connection to him?'', he snapped. ''What is your deal with him?''

''First of all, how do you know him?''

''Not important! Now, you tell me! What do you give him in return, Jen?''

''Excuse me?''

He came to stand in front of her, his hands fisted together. ''He just saved you from suspension, for fuck's sake! You act like his bloody private investigator!''

''That is not how it's like, Greg! You know I would never have done something like that without reasonable cause. You know how much I respect you and the Yarders.'', she replied, this time trying to sound softer and gentler in order to calm her DCI.

''No.'', he said stubbornly, shaking his head. ''You should have come to me first, not run and hide behind Mycroft Holmes! What the hell is going on between the two of you?''

''Nothing, honestly!''

''I'll rephrase.'', he mocked. ''Are you screwing him?''

Her eyes opened wide. ''What did you just say?''

''Oh, you didn't understand?'', he growled. ''I'll rephrase; do you spread your legs for him?''

Instead of an answer, Fielding received a strong smack on his left cheek. His head twisted violently to the other side.

''How dare you talk to me like that!'', she cried, trying to hold back the tears of fury that burned the back of her eyes.

''Why wouldn't I?'', stated Greg bitterly in a husky voice. He rubbed his cheek, now red with Jenny's hand imprint on it.

''Because you're my friend, Greg.'', Lestrade replied desperately. ''How can you think that I would sleep with him? The only reason I met him was because of Sherlock and if I could, I would never have.''

Jenny was dumbfounded, shaking her head in disbelief. ''How could you ever think like that?''

''All I know is that you are letting a murderer on the loose, hiding behind Mycroft Holmes.'', he said bitterly. He was shaking his head absently. ''Please go.'', he said softly and circled his desk, collapsing in his chair.

''Greg what did he do to you?'', she asked in a pleading tone. ''Did he threaten you? Why are you acting like that? You're not the Greg-''

''From now on, it's DCI Fielding. The foolish Greg you met, the Greg who-''

He stopped. Jenny noticed how his fist tightened significantly. He took a deep breath. ''You can go.''

''Greg, tell me… please.'', she pleaded once more.

''Out! Now!''

She didn't say anything. She just stormed off his office, confused and hurt more than ever.

* * *

She walked down the pavement quickly, stomping her boots angrily. She reached her car which was parked at a somewhat dark place and went to retrieve the car keys from her pocket.

She heard quick footsteps from behind and turned to see Fielding following her and stopping as soon as he reached her.

''For fuck's sake admit once that you were wrong! Admit once that you've screwed up!'', he cried, his voice echoing in the dark alley behind them.

''No!'', she said sternly. ''Because I didn't.''

''God!'', he said ruffling his salt n' pepper hair with his hands. ''Why do you have to be so stubborn? Why do you have to ruin everything?''

''I didn't ruin a thing! I'm just doing my job!'', she hissed.

''Yes you did!'', cried Greg. ''Everything I ever did for you was not enough.''

''Are you even listening to yourself? When have I said something like that?'', asked Jenny bewildered.

''You don't have to say anything, I can see it!'', he continued and approached her, looking almost feral. Jenny took a few steps back only to bump against her car.

''Greg…''

''All I ever wanted was you, but I was never good enough! You never thought I was good enough!''

''You're being ridiculous!'', she said and put her key to the lock. ''I'm going home.''

A hand slammed the half open door and Jenny saw Greg looking at her angrily. ''This is what I am to you? Ridiculous?''

''Greg calm down and get your hands off that door.''

But Fielding didn't seem to listen to her. ''I always let my feelings for you fog my judgment. Sally was right.''

Jenny's eyes widened. ''What does Sally got to do with anything?''

''She is the one who pointed out how vulnerable I get in front of you. How I allow everything when it comes to you and you don't even notice. You don't even give a damn!''

She was speechless. This was beyond her beliefs. She had realized that Greg Fielding had certain feelings for her, but she never knew that this event was going to trigger such a reaction.

''Greg.'', she sighed in order to calm down. ''Let's not make a big deal of this-''

Without warning Greg pinned her against the car and grabbed her face with both of his hands.

''Get off me!'', she cried.

''Do you know that by allowing you everything, I'm facing troubles myself?'', he whispered huskily, his body covering hers completely. ''First Sherlock and now this!''

''Greg, stop!''

''But I never mind! I would do anything for you!''

''No!'', she cried.

But Greg kissed her nevertheless.

It wasn't a nice kiss. It was rough, full of need and lust. Jenny's eyes were ready to pop out of her head as Greg pecked roughly at her bottom lip. His body was covering hers completely, making it difficult for her to move. When mere seconds have passed and her brain had registered that she was actually being assaulted, she bit his bottom lip with all her might.

He quickly pulled back looking surprised. ''You bit me!'', he stated and licked a drop of blood from his bottom lip. Then Jenny's punch landed on his jaw, making the DCI groan from the pain.

''How dare you? I've never given you the right, do you hear me?!'', she shouted.

Greg looked at her to see her more angry than ever. ''Jen, oh God I'm sorry, so s-''

''Next time you do something like that, my punch will land on your teeth!''

''Jen.'', he whispered and made a few steps to approach her.

''Stay right there.'', warned Jenny. ''Don't you ever- don't you ever come near me again!''

Lestrade was shaking from anger; she was gulping the thick, smelly air of the alley, her eyes fogged with rage and disappointment.

Fielding was still clutching his sore jaw, looking guilty as ever.

''I-I lost my patience…''', he began sheepishly. ''I'm so sorry.''

His voice was a soft, weak murmur, but it didn't seem to move her. ''How dare you?'', she hissed. ''How dare you report me to Brahms, then accuse me of sleeping with Holmes and then assaulting me?'', she cried. She took some deep breaths, which really didn't seem to make her feel any better; instead they made her feel dizzy.

''I'm so sorry.'', he whispered, looking at his feet.

''I can't believe there was a time I called you my friend.''

''Jen, please! I'm still your friend.''

She chuckled darkly. ''Friends stab you in the front, Fielding!'', she spat.

Fielding took a few steps back and then turned, practically running in the direction of the Yard, leaving her on her own.

Lestrade was still trying to calm herself down, her back against her car, her head tipped back. The furious feeling that had bombarded her, were starting to fade away slowly, leaving her limp and weak.

Her mobile chose this particular hour to ring.

With a trembling hand, she reached it from her black coat's pocket and without glancing at the small screen; she pressed the green _Answer_ button blindly.

''Yes?'', she asked wearily, running her hand over her flustered face.

''_Inspector Lestrade, this is Chloe.''_, said a female voice on the other end of the line.

''Chloe who?'', asked Lestrade, furrowing her brows.

''_Mr. Holmes' PA.'', _she replied nonchalantly.

''Ah.'', she simply uttered. No wonder her voice was quite familiar. ''What happened to Anthea?''

''_In my line of work I have to change my identity from time to time.'' _

She grunted, since she didn't actually care for the information. ''What do you want?'', she almost barked.

''_Mr. Holmes wants a small… chat. I'm sending a car.''_

And with that she turned her phone off, leaving an angry Lestrade muttering curses to the PA and her boss.

* * *

True to her word, a black car arrived a minute after the conversation ended. Without further delay, Jenny locked her own car and entered the black one.

She only hoped to find it intact when she got back…

* * *

She must have dozed off, because she couldn't remember the ride to this place.

The car had stopped in front of an abandoned building… typical of Holmes, really. She didn't expect to meet him at a cozy, warm coffee shop.

The building appeared to be an abandoned house. Standing at the corner of the street, it must have been a simple, elegant house… now its façade was black from the smoke and dirt and passengers were passing by it, looking for shops or houses that seemed friendlier and had something to offer.

''Where are we?'', she mumbled, but the driver didn't seem to hear her, or simply didn't want to answer.

''Mr. Holmes is inside.'', he stated and nothing more.

With a sigh, Jenny opened the door and got out.

* * *

She entered the house slowly, afraid that a wall might come down.

Her boot heels were making the floor boards squeak and she frowned at the sound.

When she closed the door, she realized that the house was surprisingly warm.

''Odd.'', she thought and followed the faint light, which radiated from behind a half closed door.

She entered the room and saw a fire burning inside a crafty, flat Victorian mantelpiece in white marble. Two plush armchairs and a round table were in front of the mantel and on the table was a crystal bottle of what seemed to be whiskey and two glasses.

Jenny huffed a laugh at the image, feeling like _Alice in Wonderland_, ready to drink the contents of the bottle and shrank.

''You're here.'', came the smooth voice of Mycroft, making her jump.

He was standing right behind her and walked to take his place in one of the chairs. ''Please, sit.'', he said politely and Jenny did exactly that.

She sat in a less graceful manner than Mycroft and fixed her eyes on the blazing fire.

''How are you?'', he asked, with something that sound like concern in his voice.

She quickly pushed the silly notion back and replied. ''I had better days.''

Her eyes drifted from his form to the room and back to the fire. ''Is this place yours?'', she asked wearily.

Mycroft slowly poured two glasses of whiskey. ''Yes.'', he said, as he delicately pushed the glass towards her. ''I bought it when I was fifteen. It's my… sanctuary, if you will.''

Jenny took the glass and sipped. ''I had a tree house when I was fifteen.'', she smiled behind her glass.

A warm smile appeared on his lips.

''Thank you.'', she said softly.

''For what?''

She sighed, since she was certain he knew what she was thanking him for. ''For calling Brahms. For… saving me from suspension.''

''There's no need to thank me.'', he replied curtly, sipping his drink. ''I may wouldn't have done that if I knew that it would cause such events to occur.''

''How do you know that?'', she asked suspiciously.

He allowed a small smile. ''I know many things, Lestrade. Especially on your DCI…''

At the sound of the word, Jenny's upper lip twitched. The images of the previous hour flashed before her.

She stood and took her coat off.

Mycroft was looking at her every move and she felt quite flustered under his gaze. She felt like he was the Spanish Inquisition. She threw the coat on the chair and circled the plush furniture swiftly, her hands on its back, supporting her weight.

''What have you done to him? Seriously Mycroft, what?'', she asked. Her anger that slowly replaced her calmness was sure to break the fragile subtlety of this meeting. But she had to know… right now the reason why he had called her, the fact that tomorrow was the day that she might solve that gruesome case, didn't matter to her. She had to know why Mycroft interfered once again.

Mycroft frowned. ''He assaulted you and you're accusing me?''

''Yes! The man is scared! You did something! What?''

''None of your concern.'', he replied coldly.

''It is my concern, when it involves me!'', she spat.

''It doesn't.''

''Bullshit!'', she cried, her hands grabbing the back of the chair tightly. ''I deserve to know why I lost my friend.''

Mycroft chuckled. ''Your friend? Really? The man who told you that you are 'Screwing me' and 'Spread your legs for me.'? You need to reconsider your friendships, Inspector.''

Her mouth twitched, once again, at the sound of Greg's words coming from his mouth. For some reason they sounded so different and much more disgusting coming from him. ''You don't know anything about him and me! You meddled and destroyed everything that Fielding and I shared!'', she cried.

''Have I?'', he spat, practically growling. He stood up, the light of the fire emphasizing the angles of his face, making him look more fearsome. ''Did it never seemed weird to you, how such a young man became a DCI?'', he continued, placing his glass on the table and approaching her slowly, like a wild animal approaches its prey.

Jenny stood her ground, fighting the urge to flee. ''As I became a DI so young! He is a capable and brilliant man, if you must know! He cracked the-''

''Yes I'm quite aware of _the_ case that made him a DCI.'', he answered in a low, husky tone. ''I've been studying it for the last year. The hero who managed to crack the kidnapper's bank accounts, find and save the daughter of the then Prime Minister.''

He was moving all this time slowly towards her and finally came to stand behind her. ''I know the case… as much as I know how deep in this case he was involved.'', he whispered in her ear, his breath ghosting over her ear and neck, sending shivers to her body from head to toe.

''You can't possibly accuse him of something like that?'', she said bewildered, turning around, only to realize how close he was standing, blocking her way entirely. She gulped.

A smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes roaming over her face. ''Allow me to know a few more things about your precious friend.'', he chuckled darkly moving even closer to her. ''How can such a smart woman, trust the wrong people, all the time.''

''And whom should I trust?'', she asked mockingly. ''You?''

Lestrade's skin crawled as she felt his fingertips caressing the length of her arm, stopping at her elbow. ''Yes.''

Jenny literally froze when he leaned forwards, until his mouth was right next to her ear. ''You are the most tantalizing human being I've ever met.''

His voice was a sweet murmur; combined with his incredibly alluring, spicy cologne it rendered Jenny incapable of moving.

''Tantalizing?'', she snorted trying to sound indifferent; trying to hide the steaming engine that was currently working in her stomach, setting her body and senses on fire.

''Yes.'', he hummed.

Jenny gasped suddenly, the moment he planted a soft, feather light kiss under her ear lobe. Jenny, who had literally frozen to her place, bit her bottom lip to stop a sigh that threatened to come forward.

''You arouse my desire and yet you're so mockingly out of reach.''

His right arm came to rest around her waist, pulling her close to him.

She let out a surprised sound. ''What are you doing?''

He didn't answer. He merely tightened his grip, like a vice.

She swallowed softly. ''Mycroft let me go.'', she said sternly and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

A warm, spicy scent mingled with something sweet penetrated her senses, making her feel fuzzier. She actually felt compelled to nuzzle the white expanse of his neck, which seemed incredibly soft.

''_Stop thinking and leave!''_, yelled suddenly a voice inside her.

A throaty chuckle came from Mycroft.

Lestrade managed to harden her face. ''Mycroft. Get. Off. Me.'', she said slowly, lowering her voice.

''Why would I do that?'', he asked innocently.

''Because I asked you to.''

He hummed. ''You know Genevieve; I am a man who was never denied a single thing. I always did what was best for my interest and the one's I loved; no matter the cost. I have the strings of the world attached to my fingertips; I control everything.''

He moved his fingertips over her face. Jenny found herself swallowing hard and feeling the heat pooling to her ears. Why couldn't she just push him? Why?

His hand had moved to her collarbone and then to her neck, clutching, but not tight. Just resting his hand there…

''Everyone is under my command; and I actually enjoy it. Seeing your plans into actions, your schemes succeeding. It makes you feel more alive than anything in this world. I must say, it is quite… arousing.''

At the sound of his last words, Jenny blushed.

''Why are you telling me this?'', she asked hazily, her voice unstable.

He batted his lashes slowly. ''Because I hate chaos in my life.''

His blunt nails dug into her neck possessively. That shook her enough. ''Mycroft, stop it.'', she said as firmly as she could manage.

Their gazes locked and for once again she felt more than intimidated by his blue gaze. ''No one ever resisted me. Until you.''

''Oh!'', she suddenly said in realization. ''I'm so sorry.'', she continued with mockery in her tone. ''I'll try my best to make you happy. Now fucking get off me!'', she growled, her senses and anger coming back.

He dug the nail of his thumb more inside the flesh of her neck, grazing the surface.

''Stop it!'', she cried and tried to push him, only to be pushed further against his body.

''Mycroft, let me go dammit!'', she growled. ''I won't suffer this!''

Finally her arms seemed to obey her and she pushed him.

Her eyes almost popped out of her head, when she realized that she had simply tried to push a brick wall. It appeared that his Savile Row suits hid a far stronger body than his idle physique projected.

This time, Mycroft's mouth came to rest mere millimeters from her.

Their eyes clashed. Brown met icy blue, now darker than she had ever seen them. She could see the lust dancing in those black-blue orbs and felt a heat in her body that she had to feel in a very long time.

''I won't let you.'', she said weakly.

His eyes open and closed incredibly slowly. There was an unreadable expression in his face.

Jenny was shivering; and it wasn't from fear or cold.

''Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes.'', he said huskily, his voice a little louder than a whisper.

"What?'', she asked weakly, before he sealed her trembling lips with his mouth.

Lestrade couldn't breathe; she felt the world dissolving around her, her knees weak and she was ready to collapse, if not for the strong grip around her waist.

His mouth was hot, ravenous. She felt his baby soft lips moving hungrily over hers, covering her completely.

Her veins were throbbing, pumping blood all over her aching body.

He dislodged his mouth for just a few moments; her back met the back of the chair and she breathed deeply, before he grabbed her waist possessively, crushing their lips together yet again.

She moaned as she felt her hair being grabbed almost forcefully, yanking her on one side to allow him better access.

Mycroft seemed to be possessed as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth without a single warning. Jenny whimpered from surprise and then desire.

His tongue worked on the inside of her mouth, exploring every single centimeter. He tasted heavenly; he tasted of whiskey and something dark, and creamy; a blend of hot tastes that drove her mad with desire.

His lips disengaged from hers. Jenny whimpered at the loss, until her mewl of need transformed into a moan, when he laid a path of fiery kisses along her neck.

The hot kisses trailed down her exposed collarbone.

Her hands came to cradle his head, her fingers raked through his soft hair.

Mycroft raised his head to look at her.

The sight took her breath away; his eyes were glazed with lust, his lips were red and glistening and she gasped.

At the sound, Mycroft attacked her lips again, nipping the slightly chapped flesh before he deepened the kiss.

Jenny felt his well manicured nails digging into the flesh of her waist.

She was lost in a delirium of lust and passion. It had been too long for her; too long since she had been intimate with someone.

Even in the last years of her marriage there was not much intimacy. Some chaste kisses which meant nothing much... but now.

Now Mycroft was sucking a spot at her collarbone and had his clever fingers working up and down her ribs, caressing her belly and back.

When his hands moved from the small of her back, down to caress her rear, she thought she would die from arousal.

Lestrade was so lost that she couldn't understand the situation; that the man who she was kissing was Mycroft Holmes, not just any man. Right now, in her eyes he was the most irresistible, gorgeous human being who was kissing her and drove her mad with desire.

Only when she felt Mycroft pinning her further against the back of the chair did she realized what was going on.

''St-", she mumbled against his lips, but he couldn't hear her. He was long lost too.

She pushed him back with force until their lips were finally unglued.

"Please, stop!", she cried, breathless. "I-I can't."

Mycroft's face was a mask of calmness; the only thing that testified his acts a few seconds ago, were his red, swollen kissed lips and dark eyes.

He slowly retrieved his hands from her waist and walked to sit in his chair.

Jenny was still standing with her back towards him. She could hear the soft sounds he was making, as he rearranged himself in the chair and picked his glass…

Then silence ensued; the sounds from the fireplace the sole music in this place.

She reluctantly turned and picked her coat from the chair, putting it on slowly.

Mycroft's eyes clashed with hers and she felt more awkward than ever.

She swallowed. ''This meant nothing.'', she stated, as sternly as she could manage.

''Really?'', he challenged with a small smile.

''Really.''

He hummed thoughtfully. ''Well, I can't say the same thing about me, can I?'', he said and gave her a most distinctive smirk.

She swallowed again. ''You promised!'', she said, her nails digging on the inside of her palms. ''You promised that after the case you'd leave me alone!''

''That was before I'd tasted you.'', he smirked, making her skin crawl and this time… definitely not from arousal. ''You've passed the point of no return, Genevieve. There is no going back… not for me and certainly not for you.''

She used her best authority face, giving him a very stern look. ''If you think that I'm afraid of you, then you're wrong!'', she stated. ''You can do whatever you like! I won't abide! I have faced people like you in my line of work, Holmes and they haven't scared me a bit!''

His face relaxed, but the small smile never left his rosy lips. ''Oh, that is going to be even more fascinating.'', he said, leaning back in his chair, as cool as ever. ''I would never dream of you submit so easily… that is one of the many reasons I like you.''

Jenny gave him a fierce look. ''Why would I ever submit to you? Why would I want you in my life?''

Mycroft seemed thoughtful for a moment. He then looked at her. ''In the end, we all love our executioners.''

Jenny simply dashed off the place.

* * *

She ignored the driver that opened the door for her.

Once outside she started running.

She ran as fast as she could, not looking back at the people she bumped into, not looking back at the cyclist who cursed her for running almost on him, she didn't look back to apologize for anything… she simply kept running till her lungs started burning.

She stopped at an unknown park, grabbing the back of a bench and breathing hard, the air coming in and out of her lungs like thick soup.

Once her face was completely flushed and her lung burning had minimized she raised her head to look at her surroundings. She had no idea where she was; she was completely disoriented.

The park was dark and she decided to leave immediately.

Her cell phone rang, signalling an incoming text.

_Stop running… you'll never escape me. – MH_

''What have I done?'', she whined and put her mobile in her pocket.

And then she started running again…

* * *

**Note: Hello everyone! Happy New Year! I'm really sorry for the delay, but I was very caught up with my university's projects. I'll try to upload the second part of this chapter before the end of the month, but I can't promise anything.**

**Also, two of the phrases in this chapter are not mine; ''Friends stab you in the front.'', was quoted by the one and only Oscar Wilde and ''Lust's passion...'', was quoted by Marquis de Sade.**

**Hope you enjoyed! :)**


	10. Something Wicked This Way Comes, Part 2

_**Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes, Part 2**_

* * *

**Hey guys!**

**I'm horrible for not posting for so long, but my courses at university, combined with a huge writer's block made me unable to write a single sentence…**

**I have to admit, I'm not entirely satisfied with those 2 chapters. They seem to me slightly rushed, but I really wanted to finish them, because I already have some awesome ideas for later!**

**Thank you for reviews, alerts and favorites!**

**I hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

Halloween Night

''I hope they leave soon.'', muttered Sherlock, gazing outside.

Children crowded Baker Street. The younger ones were along with their parents, whereas teenage companies were walking in all kinds of costumes, holding either paper bags or plastic Jack o' Lanterns full of candies.

A group of six kids dressed as zombies were throwing toilet paper around.

Sherlock snorted at the sight and slicked back some unruly strands of hair.

''It will be lovely dear, do not worry.'', came the sweet voice of Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen. ''And look at you! You are so handsome.'', she continued cheerfully.

Sherlock answered with a grunt and turned to look at Mrs. Hudson who was sorting large plates of cakes with colored icings, muffins, liqueur chocolates and other delicacies, on the kitchen table.

''You look nice too, Mrs. Hudson.'', he said gently and meant every word.

Mrs. Hudson was making a staggering _Endora_ in her long purple dress and equally long green vest. Her hair was fixed and dyed with a ghastly orange temporary color and her eyes popped, due to the large amount of blue eye shadow on her eyelids. Still, it suited her perfectly well.

''Let me fix your mask dear.'', she said sweetly and approached him. He obediently went to sit in his armchair to make the task more convenient to Mrs. Hudson. She was the only one, apart from his Mummy, that he allowed to touch him in such manner.

Mrs. Hudson sorted the white half-mask on the right side of his face, applying more eyelash glue to help the mask stay longer on his face. ''There.'', she chirped and sorted his white muslin shirt. ''All sorted, Sherlock.''

''Thank you Mrs. Hudson.'', he said politely and allowed a small smile. ''WATSON!'', he then yelled, startling the poor woman.

''Don't shout!''

''She has been in her room for three hours.'', he grumbled. ''What could possibly be taking so-''

''Good evening everyone.'', came a happy voice from the threshold and both of them looked at Dr. Watson swirling around like a little girl.

''Oh!'', came a chirp from Mrs. Hudson.

''Oh.'', came a much more serious tone from Sherlock, whose Eyes had widened at the obscure Sight in front of him.

Joan was dressed as… a man.

More likely a weird kind of humanoid… more like an elf.

Somehow, she had managed to make her hair appear shorter, darker, and curlier. A pair of pointy ears was sticking out of the dark blonde curly mess. Moreover, she was wearing dark yellow pants, a white muslin shirt, with a green waistcoat and on top of it all a velvet dark crimson coat. From her belt, was hanging a small shiny sword, which seemed real and had a strange blue glow, probably from some kind of strange, glowing-in-the-dark paint.

Sherlock was fascinated by her transformation, looking up and down. ''Is that hair on your feet?'', he asked.

''Indeed, Holmes!'', she smiled.

''Darling you look lovely!'', chirped Mrs. Hudson.

''You too, Mrs. H!'', beamed Joan.

''Thank you dear.'', replied the old woman cheerfully.

''You look like a man.'', stated Sherlock.

''That was the point.''

''I will prepare the chips.'', announced Mrs. Hudson and went to the kitchen.

''So… what are you supposed to be?'', asked Sherlock, trying not to sound baffled.

''You're kidding, right?'', said Joan.

''I don't… kid.'', he said quite serious

''Ears… feet… sword with blue blade! Doesn't remind you of anything?'', she asked, while pointing at herself.

''No.''

''Sherlock! I'm a _Hobbit_!'', she said throwing her hands in the air. ''I'm supposed to be _Bilbo Baggins_, how could you not have guessed?''

''Who?''

Joan was looking at him, her mouth gape open. ''What were you reading as a child?''

''Many things that were useful.'', he said smugly.

''You've never read _The Lord of the Rings_? _The Hobbit_? _The Silmarillion_? _The Unfinished Tales_?''

''No.''

''Oh let it go, Joan.'', said Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen. ''Our Sherlock finds only boring things important.''

''It's not that.'', he replied. ''I simply see my brain as an attic. The more-''

''Yes, darling, we know.''

He snorted and turned once again at the direction of Joan. ''I thought you would dress more feminine.''

''And I thought you'd go for the gorier version of the _Phantom of the Opera_, not the romantic and sexy one.'', she replied cheekily.

Sherlock felt heat pooling to his high cheekbones. ''I didn't have the right tools for the transformation.'', he said plainly and sat at the armrest of his chair.

''I'm heading downstairs to see if the popcorn is ready.'', announced Mrs. Hudson, dashing outside the apartment.

Joan approached Sherlock and stood in front of him.

Sherlock's stomach tightened, the moment her hands moved to his neck, but refused to let any discomfort be evident.

''What are you doing?'', he asked calmly.

''The ruffles of your shirt are tangled to the brooch of your cape.'', she smiled, her eyes fixed around his neck and her fingers, as they methodically worked.

Sherlock swallowed softly. ''It's a very good disguise, Joan… it might prove useful in the future.''

''Are you thinking going undercover in the Shire?'', she chuckled.

''I meant that your ability to transform yourself might prove useful in future cases.''

Sherlock observed the soft wrinkles that formed in the corner of her eyes, as she smiled at his worlds. It was the first time he saw them… perhaps it was the first time he observed this plain, but bizarre woman.

''There.'', she said and withdrew her fingers.

Sherlock missed the gentle touch. He cleared his throat. ''Thank you. So… which annoying people have you invited?''

Joan tisked. ''I've invited some friends from work, some from the army, Mrs. H's friends and some relatives, Molly, Mike...''

At the sound of the names, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

''Oh, come on… it's going to be fun!'', Joan smiled. ''I've invited your brother too, but he had-''

''Whatever he had, it was a good excuse.'', he said nonchalantly. ''He never appears, Joan.''

''He told me he had a meeting with the French ambassador.'', said Joan nevertheless. ''And Lestrade will attend another party first.''

That caught Sherlock's attention. ''Is she? Did she tell you what party?''

''An old friend's Halloween party. She told me she would try to come as soon as possible.''

The doorbell rang. ''That will be our first guests!'', she said and went to stand on top of the stairs to greet the guests.

''Or more hobgoblins requesting treats!'', scoffed Sherlock and sorted his cape around his shoulders.

''Happy Halloween!'', smiled Joan at the friends of Mrs. Hudson who entered the apartment, followed by the landlady.

''This is going to be a long night.'', mused Sherlock and faked a smile.

* * *

The place was not as packed as Lestrade had imagined, the moment the car came to a halt in front of the venue's entrance.

It wasn't even a club to begin with… it was more of a mansion.

In front of the door, there was a couple wearing dark clothing and Venetian masks. As soon as they got inside, the street was quiet once more.

''Is this the right place?'', asked Jenny the driver doubtfully.

''This is the place, Inspector.'', he simply said, not even looking at her. His gaze was fixed to the view ahead.

Jenny sighed.

She wore her black domino mask and hopped outside the car.

The moment she closed the door, she heard the car tires. The black car disappeared in no time and Lestrade felt her stomach tighten.

Standing two meters from the dark front door, her gaze wondered upwards to the windows.

The cream-colored curtains blocked the view, but she could still see the shadows of people coming and going, holding tall Champaign glasses chatting and flirting.

No sound was coming from this building; sound proofed apparently, it seemed that the club respected its clients privacy and whatever secrets they were hiding; perfect place for a murderer to hide.

Lestrade walked slowly and stood in front of a window frame checking her reflection.

Her usually long wavy hair tucked neatly under a short, black wig with bangs made her appear completely different; at least to someone who had never met her. Her chocolate eyes had given their place to a pair of emerald green contacts… the ensemble was concluded with her wearing one of the most expensive floor length gowns she had ever seen in her life and probably cost more she earned in two months.

She shuddered at the fact that, not only the midnight blue fabric and line of the dress complemented her, but also it had the right measurements and was the size.

What was on with the Holmeses? They could get your measurements just by looking at you!

She sighed loudly and took a few breaths to calm herself.

She was already tense by the fact that this morning, when she walked into her living room, Mycroft's assistant Anthea, or Chloe as she was going by these days, was sitting comfortably in her favorite armchair tap-tap-tapping at her phone, as if she owned the place.

She was the one who had helped with the transformation and Jenny had to admit that the woman had done an excellent job.

She jerked a little when she heard a car stopping in front of her.

From the black shiny town car, two women, the one more stunning than the other, got outside, and while wobbling a little, made their way to the door.

They appeared to be quite drunk and they didn't take any notice at Lestrade's presence.

When they were gone, Jenny realized she couldn't wait any longer.

The fashion show had ended an hour ago and the party was on. If she waited another minute, she might lose vital information, or the murderer.

She discreetly checked her left hip, her gun in place and straightened her gown.

She checked the black piece of paper in her hands that was her ticket, her mobile and walked to the door.

She put her most dazzling smile and entered.

* * *

An eerie, weird music, composed by violins and a pipe organ was echoing from upstairs along with voices and laughs.

''Welcome to the Vampire Elite.'', smiled the lady behind a black, polished, round table, that served as a counter.

''Hello.'', replied Jenny and passed her the invitation and her fake ID.

The red haired masked woman checked both of them and returned the ID, keeping the small black ticket. ''You've missed the show I'm afraid, but you're just in time for the party.'', she smiled.

''That was my intention.'', said Jenny cheekily and the woman returned a smile.

''Well, Miss Maurer you have to hand me your mobile or any other recording devices you have. We respect our clients' privacy.''

''Of course.'', said Lestrade, handing her mobile. Not her mobile really… it was an old, piece of machinery she used for cases like this. Her mobile was secure in her holster, along with her gun. If anything went wrong, she had to call for back up immediately.

''Have fun.'', she said and motioned to the stairs.

Lestrade gave her a small smirk and ascended the stairs.

* * *

The music she had heard downstairs intensified the moment she stepped inside the huge hall.

The voice of a soprano was echoing clear from speakers she couldn't see.

Lestrade swallowed, as she found herself in huge, circular chamber filled with people, dressed in all kinds of couture dresses and masks.

She felt like she had just descended (well… ascended more likely), to the nine circles of Hell, from Dante's Inferno.

The air was humid hot, with a various mix of smells.

A series of swooping arches, circled the room and Jenny noticed that they led to either stairs or other corridors, as if it was some sort of mini tunnel system.

The whole place was rendered in a tasteful display of art nouveau; apart from the color on the walls.

The scarlet painted wall tapestries with hints of black coloring and gold tendrils curling like plants, creating patterns here and there, caused a massive discomfort to the DI. Not only the color was painful to her eyes, but it somehow made her feel even weirder and suffocated; like she was standing in the middle of a pit of fire.

''Yeap… definitely, Dante's Inferno.'', she thought.

The more she looked and walked around, the more she recognized the smells that had assaulted her nostrils as soon as she entered; A wave of perfumes, mixed with musk and alcohol.

Wherever she looked there were different colors, different masks, but she could practically sense the vanity of those people under their disguise… and her instincts told her that under one of these disguises was her killer.

Everyone was wearing a mask, even the waiters.

She kept walking around the room confident and with poise.

A waiter offered her champagne, which she kindly denied; she was on duty after all.

Her eyes were caught by a man dressed all in black with a black domino eye mask, similar to hers, save the small black crystals, which decorated the perimeter of the mask. He was talking to a young man; he looked so out of place and yet he blended in perfectly.

''He must be one of Mycroft's agents.'', she thought. She shook her head lightly as the images of last night threatened to come forward. Right now she had to focus on the operation, find her killer and tomorrow… tomorrow maybe close the case for good.

She would deal with the wooing of Mycroft Holmes later.

''Looking for someone?'', came a smooth female voice.

''Adler.'', she thought and turned, to see the woman standing behind her.

She looked… small. Not in a bad way… more like petite. But everyone looked small to her sometimes, especially when she was in heels.

Nevertheless the Woman was staggering at the very least.

Smooth pale skin, high cheekbones, and green eyes with heavy lashes… Lestrade could only imagine all of these, since half of her face was covered by a shiny golden mask, to match her champagne colored dress.

A smirk adorned her red lips; a smirk that could bring men and women of power to their knees… luckily for Lestrade, she had always preferred to be just a simple Detective.

''Not someone in particular.'', she answered in a low tone, blinking her eyes slowly. She was sure that Adler knew she wasn't expecting anyone, that she knew she was an outsider. Why else would she approach her so quickly? But that didn't mean she couldn't try and charm her.

''Irene Adler.'', she said, extended her hand. ''Owner of this lovely venue.'', she smirked.

''Camille Maurer, PI.'', replied Jenny, shaking Adler's offered hand. ''Lovely place indeed.''

''I'm glad you like it.'', she winked. ''PI you said?''

''Yes… I'm here for certain questions regarding the murders of those four girls.''

Lestrade saw Alder looking doubtful for just a few moments before she smiled. ''And why are you investigating these murders?'', she asked.

''Because the police are useless.'', shrugged Jenny playfully.

The woman chuckled and slowly brushed her hand over her waist. ''I might be able to help you with that.'', she said. ''Would you like to question me?''

''If you don't mind.''

Adler came as close as possible to her, her grip around her waist tightening. ''Oh, I assure you… I don't mind at all.''

Lestrade merely nodded.

''But not here; it's too noisy… let's go upstairs.''

That alarmed Jenny a little. ''We're fine here.''

''Oh, no love.'', replied Adler with determination. ''The things I'm about to tell you require privacy.''

* * *

Not only the club was tall, it was also huge; bigger than the first look allowed her to imagine. Jenny had the feeling that this venue was not only just a club for social occasions.

''What exactly is your club?'', she asked, as she followed Irene.

''A place where people can vivify their deepest desires.'', she answered, winking at her. She stopped in front of a cream-colored door.

She turned the golden knob and entered the room.

Jenny looked around before she walked in.

She had a bad feeling about this, but how bad it could get? She had her gun, she was trained and in a confrontation, Adler wouldn't be able to knock her unconscious.

Adler closed the door and Jenny took a proper look around the room. It was some sort of drawing room, or perhaps a small sitting area. Nothing more; far more simple than the main area downstairs.

The room was lighted mainly by the lamp light against the walls and a little by the street lights and the moon from the big windows.

''Please Camille, sit.'', she said and realized that Alder was already seated on the leather couch, patting the space next to her.

Lestrade walked and sat at the other end of the couch, feeling her gun pressing against her thigh.

''Now why would you accept to speak to me?'', she asked.

Irene seemed a little bemused, but quickly recovered. ''I thought I might help. Don't you want help Camille?'', she purred, drawing closer to her.

Lestrade crossed her legs, watching Adler's eyes as they moved along with the delicate rich colored fabric over her leg, falling, revealing some of her thigh.

Jenny smirked. ''I do need all the help I can get… It is after all what I'm paid for. But still… why in this room?''

Adler moved closer, now almost at hand's reach from her. She leaned forward, supporting her upper body on her arms. ''Because I'm planning to seduce you later.'', she said breathily.

''I wouldn't be opposed to that.'', smiled Jenny, but her brain had already figured out three possible exits which no one involved the door.

If things got physical, the last thing she would need was bumping on the crowd.

''Now… what do you know about the girls? Did you know them personally?''

''No… I only knew they were models, for Rebecca Jekyll. Nothing more. And before you ask, no… they didn't have any enemies, or anything. They were sweet and quiet creatures. That's all.''

She stood slowly walking to the window, to glance outside. Jenny braced herself for what was coming.

''But you're asking the wrong questions Inspector Lestrade.'', she said suddenly, her green eyes boring into hers.

Lestrade tensed for a few seconds, but smiled. ''I think you mistake me for someone else.'', she replied.

''Oh no, no. Don't do that!'', she purred, coming closer. She kneeled on the couch, her body towering over Jenny's. ''I'm afraid that your disguise wasn't enough. I know who you are Inspector Lestrade. I have seen your pictures in the papers. And I dare say…''

She put her hand against the sofa's armrest, leaning her body closer, thus trapping her. ''Those contacts don't do you any justice. If I were you I'd lose them.''

Jenny cursed her stupidity of following Adler. What was she thinking? Of course Adler knew who she was, that's why she had approached her.

She decided to be calm. Adler didn't seem willing to harm her… yet. ''Who do you work for?'', she asked slowly, her eyes never leaving hers.

''I work for many people, but two of my employees are quite taken by you.'', she smirked. ''I don't blame them. But don't worry they don't want you to get hurt. On the contrary.''

Finally she backed away, making herself comfortable once again on the couch. ''You've got it all wrong I'm afraid, Inspector. The models were a distraction for something greater… something your plain mind can't conceive.''

''I only care to find the killer. Your conspiracy theories are hardly my problem.'', spat Jenny.

''Oh don't get offended, love.'', replied Adler innocently. ''I'm simply saying that your case is not a simple crime.''

''It is as simple as a murder can be.'', said Jenny with determination. ''If you know something I would appreciate you tell me.

''And what do I win?'', she smirked, extending her leg, till her heel covered foot caressed her leg.

''I'll tell you what you win in case you don't tell me; a night in a cell.''

Adler smirked. ''My, my, Inspector. I've never thought you were that kind of woman.''

''I'm worse.'', said Jenny seriously.

Adler chuckled. ''Oh, pity. I thought you had a different kind of cell in mind.''

''I guarantee you, the first one isn't a pleasant as you think it is. Now tell me names.''

Like a feline, Adler stretched her well toned body and sighed in content. ''Oh, alright. Greta Crowley.''

Jenny's head snapped to attention. ''The assistant Greta Crowley?''

''Mhmm…'', she hummed languidly and continued. ''Crowley is more than an assistant. She is a skilled assassin, quite taken with the macabre, let's say. You might have noticed it; she likes creating art from her victims.'', she chuckled.

Jenny tried not to show the shiver that came down her spine, as she recalled the… art that the murderer had created. Instead she crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. ''And why would I believe you?''

''You can't.'', she shrugged playfully, closing her eyes. ''But you can confirm it… she is downstairs. Go find her. With a few threats, I'm sure she'll break. She might seem tough, but believe me… she's too fragile, our girl.'', she smirked.

Jenny remained stationary, eyeing the woman.

Adler sensed her gaze and slowly opened her lids. ''You're still here darling and your time is running out. Go and find her.''

''How do I know this is not a trap?''

Adler sighed and tilted her head further back; a gesture which showed that she was getting tired of the DI's suspicions. ''I've told you Inspector Lestrade; my employees do not care about your little murders.''

''Little?'', she growled, rising from her seat. ''Four girls were brutally murdered and you think that's little?''

Adler tutted. ''Don't get upset with me, Inspector. I told you; the case is deeper than you think. But if you only care about the killer, she is currently downstairs and won't be there for long.''

Alder stood up elegantly, coming to stand in front of her. ''You just have to go and arrest her that's all.''

''Who do you work for, Adler? And why are they interested in me?'', asked Jenny in a low voice.

Alder raised her green eyes and looked at her, a smirk adorning her blood - red lips. ''You have to understand something, Inspector.'', she started in a patronizing manner. ''You are but a simple pawn in a chessboard; a game conducted by two great minds and you are in the middle of something greater. It's your choice, whether to become a casualty or shine and be the winning party.''

''What the hell is that suppose to mean?'', asked Lestrade, her brows furrowed.

''Go and find your killer; ask no more questions.''

Adler raised her hand and tapped lightly on the gun at her hip. ''You might need this.'', she chuckled.

* * *

Lestrade didn't wait any longer and dashed off the room to find Crawley.

She entered the grand circular hall, now filled with more people than before. It would take a miracle to trace her, especially if she wore a mask, like everyone else.

She could remember her face and physique very well, but she could be anyone in here.

While turning around, in an attempt to trace her, her back bumped to someone's front.

''Forgive me.'', she said quickly, turning to see who it was.

Luck seemed to be on her side that night, when she came face to face with Rebecca Jekyll. She didn't seem offended, or angry; she looked exactly the way she looked when she was in the interrogation room; cold and eerie.

Dressed in a fabulous total black attire, the petite designer didn't seem to recognize her. She was ready to leave when Jenny gently caught her wrist.

''Miss Jekyll, I'm a great fan of your work.'', she smiled, trying to sound like a big admire.

The shorter woman glanced at her hand and then at her, her eyebrow raised. Jenny immediately released her hand and cleared her throat. ''I'm very sorry to bother you on such an occasion, but do you mind telling me where Mrs. Crowley is? I am a friend and it is about a very important matter.''

''Is it?'', asked the designer, her eyebrow still tilted, but no indication in her eyes that she had recognized her.

''Indeed. I'm sorry, I cannot reveal more.''

Rebecca hummed and turned to the person who was standing a few steps away from her. ''Mother.'', she called and Patricia Hall turned to approach her daughter. Jenny turned her head to the side, trying to look like she was searching for someone. Patricia shouldn't take a good glance at her.

''Yes, dear?''

''Do you know where Greta is?''

''Who asks?'', asked Patricia, now standing next to her daughter.

''A friend of hers.'', replied the designer somewhat annoyed; she obviously had greater things to do than discussing such trivial matters.

''I believe she went to the bathroom.'', said Patricia Hall finally.

Without so much as a grunt, Jenny left both women and hurried into the corridor, which led to the bathroom.

* * *

She closed the door behind her and locked it.

She noticed that only one stall was occupied and if she was lucky, Greta Crowley would come out at any moment.

She looked around for a while, breathing quietly and walking even quieter.

The bathroom was too luxurious; black marble prevailed almost everywhere, from the floor to the sink base.

Lestrade looked around to notice the deep golden color on certain areas on the walls and then a big circular window, overlooking at the city.

The sound of a flush and the soft _click _on the door's lock and there was Greta, looking at her with a question in her blue eyes.

She walked to the sink and started washing her hands.

''Greta Crowley.'', said Lestrade and the woman turned to look at her.

''Do I know you?'', she asked indifferently, turning the tap off and wiping her hands on the fluffy white towel.

''We've met before.''

''I don't recognize you, I'm sorry.''

''Did you commit the murders Greta?''

A chuckle escaped her lips, a look of pure amusement in her eyes. ''What?''

With a sharp move, Jenny removed the wig from her head, her hair falling freely like a dark brown cascade over her shoulders. She took the mask of off her face and threw it on the floor. ''You remember me now?'', she asked, throwing the wig on the floor as well.

''You're that Inspector, aren't you?'', she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, looking tall and intimidating, something that was more emphasized by the black fitted suit she was wearing.

''Yes. I'll ask you again; did you kill those girls and why?''

Crowley shook her head in disbelief and looked at the mirror, sorting her tight bun. ''You're mad.'', she huffed.

''Irene Adler seems to think you did it.''

At the sound of the name her hands paused and lowered. She turned to look at her, swallowing. ''What?''

Lestrade tried not to appear bemused, but she noticed a painful expression painting her features.

''Why would she do that?'', she asked, more like saying her thoughts aloud.

''Is it true then?'', asked Jenny, her hand slowly caressing her gun.

Suddenly a soft sound, coming out of nowhere, distracted Jenny who, out of instinct, glanced at the direction of the sound.

She thought she saw a small red glow coming from outside the window, but she couldn't be sure.

Because what followed was a sharp pain and the air escaping her lungs, as a strong fist landed on her stomach.

The fist then landed under her jaw, throwing her head back and Jenny collapsed with a grunt holding her stomach with one hand and her jaw with the other.

The pain was too much and tears blurred her vision. Before she could react, her gun was taken from her holster and the cold barrel of it was pressed against her temple.

''Be a good girl Inspector and don't fight.'', purred Greta in her ear.

'Why?'', she asked in a raspy voice. ''Why would you hurt those girls?''

''Because I was paid.'', she answered in a cool voice. ''Because I answer to a certain gentleman who wants what I want? Murder, mayhem… thrill.''

''That's not a good enough reason!'', hissed Jenny, fighting the tears that burned her eyes. She started coughing and she felt as her lungs would soon bleed. It was a stronger punch than it had appeared. ''What did you gain from their deaths!'', she said after the coughing fit had stopped.

''Didn't your mother teach you never to ask a woman such questions?'', she chuckled.

''You assaulted a police officer, you'll never escape!''

''I guess…'', she said thoughtfully. ''I suspect after your death, there will be a fuss… after all, I'm planning to make such a marvel out of you.''

Lestrade looked at her with horror.

The other woman chuckled. ''Imagine your lifeless body making such a lovely spectacle on a tomb of a cemetery. Perhaps I'll take more care with you, that I did with the others... maybe something more… artistic, shall we say.'', she chuckled. Nevertheless, I'll honor you properly, I guarantee that.''

''You'll never get away!'', hissed the Inspector, trying to hide her quivering voice.

''Oh I will. You see that big window over there?'', she replied, nodding at the big round window near the door. ''That's my way out.''

She stood, Jenny's gun pointed at her. ''It was a pleasure, Inspector. Such a pity you'll never know the truth.''

* * *

They say that your life flashes before your eyes, the moment you're about to die.

People believe those images are the most beautiful memories you've ever had. Scientists claim that this happens because your brain ''downloads'' all your memories, trying to find a way to escape your death.

Lestrade had always been a reasonable woman; she preferred the logical leads and methods. She believed what scientists said. But at this point her brain didn't seem to function; it couldn't find a solution… it simply froze.

It all happened incredibly fast. The sound of shattered glass echoed and a sharp, horrible cry escaped Greta's lips, who collapsed next to Jenny, her leg a bleeding mess.

She had dropped the gun, clutching her wound, her hands painted in the most ghastly red color.

Jenny had instantly covered herself from the millions of glass shards, her head tucked under her hands, her eyes closed.

When the glass-rain was over, she slowly opened her eyes, to see the window broken, Crawley on the floor with a terrified expression in her face and a horrible wound in her leg.

Then something broke the silence. Someone was… tutting.

A form materialized from the dark corner of the bathroom. A man, a strange man…

''Tut-tut Greta I'm very disappointed.'', said the stranger, his hands inside the pockets of his expensive suit. ''Didn't I tell you to just warn her, not kill her? I hate it when you disobey me.''

What Jenny was witnessing was completely surreal. Her mouth was gaping open, her eyes as big as saucers and her pain long forgotten.

''Why did you do that?'', she cried, tears running down her perfect cheekbones.

''Do you think I would let you kill our wonderful Inspector?'', he chastised the woman.

He then turned his eyes to the other form on the floor.

His dark eyes were calm behind her eye mask, but you could see the madness dancing in those black orbs.

''Forgive this… mishap, Inspector.'', he smiled and walked the few steps to her side. He kneeled, careful not to touch the floor and ruin his expensive trousers. ''My sniper caused such a mess.'', he chuckled, as he picked some glass shards from her hair.

Jenny was completely frozen, unable to form any words, unable to move. She helplessly watched him as he took a syringe from his jacket pocket, with a clear liquid inside and carefully took her hand, gently tracing the surface to find a prominent vein.

''I'm so sorry that we meet under such circumstances. But, I'll be seeing you again.'', he said and gave her a toothy grin.

She swallowed as he pierced the flesh and pushed the rubber piston.

The cold needle didn't hurt at all. It felt like a small bite from an insect. However, she felt the dizziness, the sudden darkness that enveloped her.

She tried to move but it was hopeless; she tried to speak back her lips were numb, as well as her tongue.

Her hearing though, was fine.

She heard his dark, sultry chuckle and his smile was the last thing she saw, before her eyes closed.

But the last thing she heard, was a pleading cry. ''NO, PLEASE!''

And then a gun fired…

_And then there was darkness._

* * *

Fielding ducked under the yellow tape and made his way past the sea of uniforms and paramedics that filled the street.

''She's in the paramedics.'', said Sally, who appeared in front of him.

''I know.'', he replied firmly. ''How are things?''

''A dead woman and about a hundred terrified guests.''

''Good.'', he said dismissively and left Sally without further discussion.

Sally though caught up with him. ''I was waiting for you last night.'', she said softly.

Fielding stooped dead on his track, turning swiftly to look at her, his face showing his annoyance. ''Don't ever say that here again!'', he hissed. ''Are you out of your mind?''

''I can't stand being your doormat for much longer, Greg.'', she replied frustrated, but quietly. ''I have needs… needs for something more than just a shag. I cannot watch you pining for her!''

Fielding grabbed her arm with force and ushered her towards a parked police car, away from the prying eyes. Although everyone was occupied with questioning witnesses and collecting evidence, he didn't want anyone to listen. ''Are you out of your mind, Sally? Someone could hear us.''

''You don't deny it, do you?'', she smiled mirthlessly. ''You love her.''

''What I do with my life, is my own business!''

''She doesn't even care about you!'', she cried.

''Will you shut up?''

Sally went to say something, but a uniform interrupted them. ''Sir we canvassed the area and the buildings… no sign of the shooter.''

''He was probably a professional, it will be hard to trace him.'', he said thoughtfully, looking at the brunette. ''Gather the others, we're leaving.''

''Yes sir.''

As soon as the man left, Fielding turned to Sally again. ''Don't you ever dare do that again! You and I are through once and for all.''

Sally's features stiffened. ''You promised me something, Greg and I don't forget. You will suffer the consequences if you don't-''

''Are you threatening me, Donovan?''

''I'm warning you.'', she spat. ''You promised me her place in the force. I'm not forgetting that.''

''You're playing with fire, Donovan.'', he growled.

Sally stood her ground. ''Then you should have been more careful of the things you've told me, after every time we've slept together.'', she smiled cockily.

Fielding's eyes hardened. ''Don't tempt me, Sally.''

''Keep your end of the bargain.'', she said. ''I don't care what you'll do; kick her out of the force, assign her desk duties, whatever… just give me her place and you little secret is safe with me.''

With that Sally turned and walked away to join the others.

Greg wanted to chase her and give her a piece of his mind, but he knew that it was too risky with so many people around.

He turned to the other direction, spotting a seated figure on the back of an ambulance.

* * *

Jenny was tired… too tired.

Moreover, those bloody stitches had started to tingle. The blue ice pack, against her wound, had dulled the pain, but now was burning her forehead, so she decided to remove it.

''Ma'am, put that back.'', chastised the woman next to her softly.

''In a minute; it makes my headache.'', she replied wearily.

The paramedic shook her head.

''What's your name?'', asked Lestrade softly, but with a raspy voice.

''Ingrid Hastings, ma'am.'', replied the young woman politely.

Jenny slowly took her green contacts off, throwing them on the ground. ''What was I drugged with, Ingrid?'', she asked, her eyes shut from exhaustion, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

''Copious amounts of morphine and sleeping pills. Your attacker wanted to make you faint fast, but he certainly didn't want to hurt you.''

''How can you be so sure?'', chuckled Lestrade.

The paramedic covered her bare shoulders with a shock blanket. ''In the state we found you, ma'am, if he really wished, you would have already been dead.'', she replied quite seriously, patting her sympathetically on the shoulders and left.

Lestrade nodded absent-mindedly. An image of her lying on that bathroom floor, the murderer dead and a crazy, unknown man sedating her, passed before her eyes.

But it was over! The case was closed! She could go home now, sleep for two days straight, and get her head together.

''But is it really over?'', whispered a small voice in her head. What did Adler mean? How did that man know who she was and was he the one who-

Lestrade's thoughts halted the moment she saw Fielding approaching her.

She took a deep breath and nodded. ''Sir.''

Greg raised his brow. ''Don't _Sir_ me, Lestrade.'', he said.

Jenny merely grunted. She wasn't going to call him by his given name, if that was what he was thinking of…

The silence between them was unbearable. ''Any sign of the shooter?'', she asked after a while.

''No. He was clearly a professional. No bullet calibers, no prints, no nothing.''

''It wasn't her.'', she said absently. ''She confessed, but I'm sure it wasn't her.''

''She told you she did it, Lestrade. What other proof do you need?''

''She was a mere pawn… not the mastermind.'', she sighed.

''I'll look into it, I have to.''

''Jen.'', he said softly, grabbing her by the shoulders, making her face him. Jenny winced at the contact, something that Fielding realized and immediately released her. He cleared his throat, tucking his left hand in the flap pocket of his beige trench coat, the other hanging on his side. ''You did well… there will be a minor fuss, but you found the killer. But for your own sake, stop now.''

''Stop what?'', she asked, furrowing her brows.

''The witch hunt, Jen! She confessed; uniforms are now at her house looking for clues… she did it. That's enough.''

''Did you find Irene Adler?''

''Who?''

''The owner!'', she cried.

''Jen, there was no Irene Adler on that guest list!''

Jenny looked startled. ''What? Are you sure?''

''Positive.'', he nodded.

''She's the owner! How can not she be on that list?''

''What owner? What are you on about?'', he asked worriedly.

Lestrade took a deep breath to calm herself, since a wave of dizziness threatened her. ''Irene Adler; she is a partial owner of this club, she was there, I talked to her.''

Fielding was looking at her, as if she was crazy. He was shaking his head at her ranting and that angered her even more.

''Jenny, calm down.'', he said gently, yet firmly. ''There was no Irene Adler on that guest list. Now I'm going to tell you once more; stop!''

Jenny decided not to reply. She simply nodded in agreement. ''Yes, Sir.'', she said.

Let him think that this was wrapped up… she would get to the bottom of this.

''Good evening, Inspector.'', said a familiar female voice.

Fielding and Jenny turned and saw Mycroft's PA, tapping at her Blackberry. She was wearing a total black tight dress, which seemed to be her trademark and a cashmere coat on top. Jenny wanted to protest, tell her how tired she was to follow her to wherever Mycroft fancied to meet her, but her words died in her mouth the moment she saw the paramedic approaching the three of them.

''Evening.'', she replied curtly and then turned to the other woman. ''Can I go now?'', she asked eagerly.

''Yes, Inspector, you're free to go. You might feel nauseous in the next three to five hours, but that's about it. Just sleep and the drugs will wear off.'', she replied, looking at some paper sheets attached to a black clipboard.

She raised her head to look at her patient then at Fielding, then the strange woman with the phone. ''Is someone taking you home, ma'am?''

''I am.'', replied the PA.

Jenny tried not to grunt.

''No, I will.'', said suddenly Fielding, eyeing the PA.

She slowly raised her head, giving him a sultry smile. ''I don't think so, Chief Inspector. I have clear instructions to escort the Inspector-''

''From whom, exactly?'', he growled.

She chuckled, shaking her head playfully. ''A very important man.''

''Lestrade, we're leaving.'', growled Fielding, at the same time grabbing Jenny almost forcefully hoisting her up on her feet.

''Hey!'', protested Jenny. ''I'll take a taxi, alright?!''

Mycroft's PA looked at Lestrade. ''Inspector, would you like me to give you a lift to your house?''

''We don't need you!'', snapped Fielding.

''I don't recall asking you, Chief Inspector.'', she replied coldly.

Jenny looked both of them; she really wanted to get home and she most definitely didn't want to be in the same car as Fielding after last night. So the choice was quite clear.

''Let's go.'', she said wearily, walking to stand next to the PA.

The PA smiled triumphantly to the startled Fielding. ''If you will follow me.''

''Goodnight Sir.'', said Jenny to Fielding, who merely left in a hurry leaving the two women.

''Shall we?'', asked the woman softly.

''Yeah.''

She shed that ridiculous orange, shock blanket off her shoulders and left the ice pack. She then realized that it was actually quite chilly.

''Erm… I don't have my-erm…'', she mumbled, looking around.

''Your coat, mobile and gun are safe and sound in the car. Make haste, if you don't want to catch a cold.'', she smiled and walked to the direction in the luxurious black car.

* * *

To her big surprise and relief, the car stopped in front of her house.

She cast a concerned look at the PA, which she returned with an amused one.

''You can go, Inspector Lestrade.'', she smiled. ''Have a good night.''

''Thanks.'', she said and opened the door.

She turned to look at the younger woman. ''What is your name for tonight?''

The PA seemed thoughtful for a few seconds before she replied. ''It's back to Anthea; Chloe didn't really suit me.''

Jenny gave her a small smile. ''Goodnight, Anthea.''

''Goodnight, Inspector. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.''

* * *

She closed the door behind her gently and locked it.

With her eyes shut, she leaned her head backwards, sighing blissfully for what seemed the first time in a month.

The case was closed… but not for good.

Blindly, her hand found the switch and she turned the lights on.

''Jesus!'', she cried when she saw the form of none other, than Mycroft Holmes sitting on her couch. ''What are you doing here?'', she asked alarmed.

''I am here to congratulate you on your success.'', he replied simply.

Jenny swallowed when she saw his eyes roaming over her, a small smirk adorning his pink lips.

''Leave please, I'm really tired.'', she said slowly and somewhat politely. The fatigue was such, that she didn't have the power to be mean or bossy around anyone at this point; Mycroft Holmes or not…

''Do not fear, ma petite, I will leave.'', he replied.

Jenny chuckled, her eyes roaming around her living room.

''_Ma petite?'', _she repeated wearily, but slightly amused.

She had only been _ma petite_ to her father and that when she was a ten year old… now, she wasn't as feminine nor as delicate as she would wish and certainly not small.

''You are absolutely gorgeous.'', he said out of the blue, drawing her attention to him.

Lestrade felt flustered and awkwardly walked to the kitchen.

She shed her coat, throwing it on the kitchen table and moved to the sink, to pour herself a glass of ice cold water.

''I must say it was a hell of a night.'', she said and took a sip, feeling the water running down her dry throat. ''I met the notorious Irene Adler.''

''Oh?''

''Yes.'', replied Jenny leaving the glass on the kitchen counter and walking into the living room again, while removing her heels. The pain in her feet eased as she felt the plush carpet under her toes.

''What did you think of her?'', he smirked.

She walked to sit on her couch, at a safe distance from where Mycroft was sitting. ''Like you've said she was the link I was looking for. She gave me the name of the killer willingly. Too willingly.''

* * *

Mycroft was looking at her the whole time, his fingers idly roaming over the rim of the glass of wine, he had freely poured himself the moment he came to her house.

He could see her impatience and determination to find out what was going on and why Adler had told her everything; but not tonight. She didn't have to know that he did it all for her... for her career.

She didn't have to know that the reports from her superiors were not at all… favorable.

Her bosses were not happy with Sherlock's involvement and how often she needed him to solve crimes; they considered her weak and a slight burden to the force.

That is why he interfered; that's why he sent her there tonight, with Adler at her heel. It was indeed risky, but it was all or nothing.

He did it all for her.

Not all of course, mind you; the murders of those four girls were the sick game of one particular lunatic; still, it didn't mean he couldn't turn things on his side, from time to time.

But she didn't have to know… not yet.

* * *

''Well?'', Lestrade asked impatiently. She was pretty sure he had listened to her question, although he looked as if he had drifted somewhere else.

''If you're asking if this was my doing, no my petite, it wasn't.'', he replied softly, taking a sip from his drink. ''I suppose Adler couldn't resist your charm.'', he smirked.

''Do you think I'm an idiot, Holmes?'', she asked, furrowing her brows.

''No.''

''Then tell me this; why wasn't her name on the guest list? Why wasn't she recorded as the owner of this club?''

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully. ''Tell me again, which were the owners of this… venue?''

Lestrade felt anger rising in her chest. ''Are you taunting me, Holmes?''

''No, Inspector.'', he smiled.

She sighed loudly. ''A Hamish Cavendish, his wife Catherine and Adler.''

He hummed again in agreement and smiled softly.

Then it dawned on her. ''Let me guess; Cavendish is Adler.''

''Indeed. You wouldn't expect a woman like Adler parading around with nothing more than her birth name… a woman like her needs an alias. Or more.''

''Then why did she tell me her real name?''

''Because she knew no one would believe you, since her real name wasn't in the venue's papers or guest list. She is indeed remarkable.''

In his last words, Lestrade felt a pang of jealousy. ''Is she?'', she asked trying to sound sarcastic, but the sound came more bitter out her mouth. Something that Holmes seemed to notice.

''Jealous, ma petite?'', he asked with satisfaction.

''Stop calling me that!'', she snapped, at the same time standing to her feet.

''Why not?''

''Because you're not my friend, or family, or-''

''Lover?''

It took her by surprise; what a small, insignificant word like this, coming from his mouth, could do to her. She maintained her composure though and she was very proud of it. ''Yes. You're not. So stop it.''

She walked back to her kitchen. She was too wired now and she needed a drink, then a nice hot bath, her pajamas and a good night's sleep. She took a glass from one of her cabinets and the bottle of scotch from another, courtesy of her old friend Greg Fielding.

''And please leave… I'm really tired.'', she said, loud enough for Mycroft to hear her.

She poured herself a glass and walked back to the living room taking a gulp, when her eyes landed on Mycroft's form again, now standing and observing her.

''Are you still here?'', she muttered and walked to the window. She drew one of the curtains lightly to see if the window was securely closed and to glance at the dark street.

She turned and saw Mycroft standing not one meter away from her, his hands in the trouser pockets, of his navy blue three piece suit.

''Could you just leave?'', she asked tiredly. ''I need to sleep.''

''You're not supposed to drink. You were drugged not two hours ago.'', he said smoothly and stepped closer.

''Once again, you're not my friend, you're not to tell me what I'm supposed to do.'', she replied, raising the glass to her lips, drinking the bittersweet substance.

He tutted.

She smirked. ''Do I vex you, Holmsie?'', she chuckled.

''Very much.''

''There's the door. Off you go.'', she said, motioning to the door.

Mycroft came even closer, making her back further against the wall.

''I do not like your tone, Inspector.'', he said in a husky voice. ''I'm not a dog you can 'shoo' off.''

Jenny felt the heat rising to her cheeks; a little fear and excitement clouded her mind.

''I'm a very patient man, Genevieve.'', he continued, his voice sweet and soothing, like honey. ''But I'm starting to get very, very upset with your behavior.''

Lestrade gulped, as he came even closer, realizing she had nowhere to go. Those images from last night played again inside her brain and she could feel her face and ears getting warmer and more flushed. And she was pretty sure her pupils were massive!

''If I upset you, you can go.'', she replied quietly, not trusting her own voice.

''Oh, you will not get rid of me so easily.'', he smiled.

''Is that a threat?''

''Threat, ma petite?'', he replied, sounding offended. ''I don't threaten those whom I desire; I simply have them.''

She snorted, taking a gulp from her scotch. ''Well, I don't know what's going on in that big, brain of yours, but let's get something clear; yesterday was a mistake and you will never have me.''

He sighed lightly. ''I'm tired of playing games with you, Genevieve. Just admit that you are attracted to me and we can take it from there.''

''Aren't you confident?'', she said in a singsong voice, flashing him a brilliant smile.

''I'm simply speaking the truth you do not wish to acknowledge.''

''Ok.'', she said raising her hands between their bodies. ''You had your fun, now leave.''

''I'm not here to have fun.''

''Mycroft, leave!''

''I'm not going anywhere.'', he stated.

She took another small gulp, watching his eyes as he narrowed them.

''I told you, it's not good for you to drink in this state.''

''You're in my house, Holmes; uninvited, if I may add. So, I'll do anything I want… cheers!'', she smirked, bringing the glass once again to her lips.

''That's enough.'', he stated firmly, at the same time grasping the glass from her hand, throwing it on the floor.

The glass didn't make a sound as it landed on the carpet, spilling the remaining drink over the fabric.

Caramel colored droplets ran from her mouth as the rim of the glass disengaged suddenly from her lips.

''Are you out of your mind?!'', she cried, but Mycroft didn't seem to listen her. His eyes were focused on the drops that flowed past her lips, dribbling by the corners of her mouth, down her chin and her breastbone and disappeared inside her cleavage.

Jenny raised her hand to wipe the mess from her, only to have Mycroft clutching her wrist with gentleness.

Their eyes engaged; Jenny gulped, feeling her throat dry, her heart pounding in her chest.

Without a single warning, his lips landed on her jaw line, his tongue gently probing to lap the drink from there.

Her head was rushing from the drugs, alcohol and lack of oxygen. She gasped, gulping the precious oxygen she needed, as Mycroft's tongue traced her skin.

Lestrade knew it was wrong; she knew who that man was, but like last night, she didn't care at this point.

Her arousal was so great, she thought she would combust; her wide eyes were staring upwards at the ceiling, her chest heaving with anxious breaths and she could feel his long, lithe fingers working on the straps of her gown.

His tongue continued its exploration on her collarbone, until her reached the valleys of her breasts.

Mycroft raised his head and Jenny's eyes moved from the ceiling to meet his gray blue gaze. They were both panting and looking at each other.

Realization dawned on her and she tried to wiggle free.

Mycroft, ever observant, saw this, quickly linking their fingers together and pinning both of her hands on each side of her head.

They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity to Lestrade and at last, she spoke. ''So what now?'', she asked, her breath swallow as she stared up at Mycroft with heavy lidded eyes.

He didn't reply, merely kept looking.

The signs of arousal were evident on his face; but apart from the lust blown eyes and rough breathing, he had a serenity in his face that drove Jenny mad.

There she was, pinned against a wall in her house, aroused more than ever and there he was holding her back just looking.

''If I let go of your hands, will you promise to stay quiet, my dear?'', he smirked.

''I'm not taking orders from you, Holmes!'', she snorted and wiggled in his grip. ''I'll do as I choose.''

He tutted, shaking his head lightly.

''Let go, damn it!''

''And why would I ever do that?''

''Because I'm asking you to!''

''Before I let you go, I would like to proceed with last night's activities.'', he said, smiling lightly.

She gulped. ''We can't.'', she gasped.

He chuckled. ''Of course we can, ma petite.''

''I ca-''

Her words though died in her mouth, as his lips covered hers.

He slowly brought her hands over her head, holding her wrists with one hand, the other arm surrounding her waist, bringing her closer.

He brushed his lips slowly, sensually and a whimper escaped from Jenny's throat.

Jenny was bemused with herself. It felt good, too good in fact... it shouldn't feel that good, yet it did and she wanted to touch him so bad, to melt against him even.

''Myc-r'', she mumbled against his lips and he slowly let go, his eyes closed.

''Yes my dear?'', he asked hoarsely.

''You can let go.'', she replied, with an equally husky tone.

He immediately let her arms drop, his previously occupied arm now clenching her hair and biting her swollen lips almost painfully.

They disengaged for a while, breathing raggedly. With their eyes still fixed, he took the straps of the dress and lowered them, until the upper part of the gown had pooled around her waist.

Lestrade gulped as his eyes roamed over her seminude upper body and felt the urge to cover herself.

Mycroft snaked his left hand behind her waist, bringing her closer to his body and the other cupped her black laced covered breast.

Jenny suppressed a moan, closing her eyes just a little, resting her head against the wall.

''Genevieve.'', he whispered, making her eyes open again. ''We've passed the point of no return, ma petite. I don't want to, but if you tell me to stop, I will… just tell me you don't feel anything for me and I will go.''

Lestrade's stubborn side, the Detective, was telling her to look him straight in the eyes and lie to him. Get him out of her house and life.

But this was not what she wanted; there was nothing more she wanted at this point but him.

She swallowed thickly. ''What do you want from me, Mycroft?'', she asked quite seriously.

Lestrade's breath was labored, almost coming out like a whiz, as she awaited his answer patiently.

''You.'', he said finally. ''Just for tonight, ma petite… let go.'', he whispered, his thumb caressing her sensitive pick.

This time she didn't suppress any moan. The small cry that escaped her lips was like music to her ears, as she finally let go of her guards and surrendered to the man who called himself the British Government.

''And tomorrow?'', she panted.

''Tomorrow… we'll see.''

* * *

**Notes:** **The _gorier_ version of The Phantom of the Opera is the silent film back in 1925.**

**If you have a chance, watch it, because it is truly remarkable and horrific! In fact, it was so scary back then, that, during the unmasking scene, many people fainted in the theaters! Obviously now, it will not seem so scary, but at that time it was quite gory.**

**So, if you like those kind of films, it's perfect!**

**Also, the _Endora_, Mrs. Hudson is dressed as, is the chief antagonist in the TV series _Bewitched_. Just in case you didn't know. ;)**


	11. Something Wicked This Way Comes,Epilogue

_**Chapter 11: Something Wicked This Way Comes, Epilogue**_

Patricia Hall walked carefully to the direction of the music.

It came through the closed doors of her drawing room.

She had a hunch as to who was behind those doors.

With a deep breath, she opened the door.

''Everything went horribly wrong tonight, James.'', she said with a steady voice, closing the door and walking further inside. ''Nothing went according to plan. Every-''

''Shh!'', said the man, who had his back turned to her, raising his right hand to silence her.

Patricia's voice was caught in her throat and she obeyed.

Moriarty started swaying his right hand in delicate moves, in sync with the imposing violin music.

''I love Don Giovanni, don't you?'', he said after a while. ''It is Mozart's darkest opera. Won't you agree?''

Patricia merely nodded. ''Yes. It is… nice.''

''Nice?'', he replied with amusement. ''Your words hardly do any justice to this masterpiece.''

''It is no time for music now, James.'', she cried frustrated, walking to the mini bar, to turn the phone off.

''Don't.'', warned Moriarty and Patricia let down the small item.

With another frustrated sigh she poured herself a drink. ''I thought that idiot Greta would have told the DI what we've agreed! Nothing of this happened! Why did you kill her?''

He shrugged and Patricia sighed angrily, fiddling with the crystal glass. ''We would have gotten her out of it the way we have planned! Greta would have escaped after she had confessed to the murders and my daughter's involvement

Moriarty calmly walked and sat on the fainting couch. He crossed his legs and looked at her with a toothy grin. ''Who says nothing went according to plan?''

''Then why is my daughter not in jail? Hmm?''

''Ah, that. Well… you see dear, there were some… alterations.''

''What sort of alteration?'', replied Patricia, who was practically fuming. ''We had a deal, James! That blasted Inspector would find Greta, Greta would confess to the murders and to my daughter's involvement and Rose would be behind bars by the end of this night!''

''And you would collect her father's inheritance. Yes, yes, I'm aware.'', replied Moriarty teasingly.

Patricia left her untouched glass of scotch on the table and loomed over Moriarty. ''Then why nothing went right!?''

Moriarty smiled innocently.

''Who says nothing went according to plan?''

Patricia froze.

She felt cold droplets of sweat running down her spine and her heart felt like it stopped for a mere second.

She slowly turned and saw her daughter standing behind her with a small smile curled to her lips.

''Hello, mummy.'', she said, the smile turning into a grin.

''Rose?''

''Surprised mother?'', she smiled.

Moriarty stood and walked with confidence to the young woman's side. With ease, he circled his arm to her petite waist and brought her closer to his body.

''Bu-what? Why?''

Patricia wasn't coherent enough to form any sort of words.

''Why? Well, I always knew you didn't like me, mother, but not to this extent.'', huffed Rose. ''And when you reached out to James, I knew I should get rid of you before you got rid of me.''

Moriarty smiled and reached for the glass of scotch that Patricia had left. He almost brought it to his lips, then with a frown passed it to Rose. ''Not my favorite brand.'', he said and Rose took the glass, gulping it in one go.

''So. Where were we?'', she continued, pulling a shiny hand gun from her small bag. ''Ah, yes.''

''Rose, please. I'm your mother after all!'', cried Patricia, knowing how silly that sound.

''And I'm your daughter… yet, you were willing to send me to prison! Only then, you could get your filthy, greedy hands to my father's money to save your crumbling company.''

''You left me no choice, you little bitch!'', hissed Patricia, forgetting shortly that she was under gun threat. ''You and that bastard arranged everything! After everything I've done to help your father financially, to save his estates and money and then help you and what do I get!? Nothing! He leaves me nothing!''

''Enough!'', cried Moriarty suddenly. ''Rose, love, finish her!''

''Goodbye, mummy!'', she said innocently and fired instantly.

Patricia felt dead, her lifeless upper body on the couch, the rest on the floor.

A pool of blood started to form and paint the couch, small droplets slowly dripping on the floor and carpet.

''And she didn't utter her last words.'', said James breaking the silence.

Rose let out a cold laugh and put the gun back inside the purse. She turned to Moriarty and with the hunger evident in her eyes, grabbed the back of his neck and smashed their lips together.

Moriarty gently disengaged from her grip, a wolfish grin on his lips.

''Will your man be here to discard the body?'', asked Rose impatiently.

''Oh yes.'', he nodded and slowly walked to the mini bar to pick his phone.

Rose saw him fiddling with his phone and after a while a different piece of music filled the silent room.

''As well as yours.''

Silence hung like a guillotine over their heads, the only sound coming from his mobile.

''I love Mozart, but I adore Rossini.'', he commented. ''The Overture of The Thieving Magpie is truly genius, won't you agree?''

''What are you saying, James?'', asked Rose with a trembling voice.

He turned and looked at her. ''That my man will take care of your pretty little body too.''

Rose's pale face became gaunt, as she reached for the gun with shaky fingers.

''Oh, come on!'', nagged Moriarty in a childlike manner.

Rose raised the gun.

''I wouldn't do that if I were you!''

She fired.

''Told you!'', he said in a patronizing manner.

Rose started pulling the trigger again and again, but nothing happened.

''In case you're wondering, there was only one bullet inside that gun. True, it was quite risky that you would know, when you shot your mother, but as they say… fortune favors the bold. I had to take the risk.''

Rose's eyes were clouded with tears and fear, as her tiny form started shaking. ''Why?''

''Because I don't like playing with others, dear.'', he smiled a wicked grin that made her shudder. ''And anyway, there is always the chance that you would reveal my plans one day.'', he continued, shrugging lightly.

''You know- you know, I would never-'', she started, the sobs coming out of her throat choking her.

''Oh, don't weep my darling.'', he said softly, coming to her side to clutch her shoulders. ''You've helped enough. Those models of yours, were the perfect distraction for something greater; you should feel proud.''

Her small body was shaking in his arms, as the sobs became more and more violent. ''I thought- you and-''

''Oh, dear.'', he interrupted. ''You never really thought that you and I were together?'', he chuckled.

''Is it about money?'', she asked, her voice shaky. ''Take everything! Take all of my money, I don't care!'', she shrieked.

Moriarty gave a sigh. ''People are so base these days.'', he snorted. ''I don't want your money, I have enough resources.''

''Then what?''

''That , my darling girl, remains to be seen.'', he smiled. ''Your feud with your mother and the hate she nursed for you, made it practically easy for me to manipulate the situation to my likings. But, unfortunately, you'll not be here to view the results.''

Rose raised her head, weak to do anything else. A sob escaped the woman's lips, tears roaming down her powdered cheeks. ''Please James, please don't!'', she pleaded. ''Please, I'll do anything! I don't want to die!''

Moriarty stopped smirking and started tutting. ''I hate it when you people do that.'', he said with fake exasperation. ''You all die in the end. THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!''

Rose's sobs seized the moment she saw him looking at her ferociously. Her voice stuck in her throat, unable to utter a word.

His eyes burned with pure madness and she wouldn't dare to challenge him.

He cleared his throat, his face returning to its normal calm façade. ''Besides, I've already killed you.'', he said calmly, pointing at the crystal glass on the table. ''It shouldn't take long; a couple more minutes.''

''How?''

''The scotch, love.'', he smirked. ''Didn't your mummy ever tell you? Never take anything from strangers. But do not be frightened… I'm a merciful man when I choose to.''

* * *

Moriarty saw the desperate attempts of Rose Hall to breathe, as she shuddered and writhed in his hands.

He watched her as she her mouth was gaping open, her throat dilating… he watched with satisfaction how the color of her face changed and the life was drained from her eyes.

''Not that merciful.'', he chuckled, when finally she stopped moving.

The Overture continued, this time the orchestra playing even more vigorously, as the piece was reaching its completion.

''Shall we dance?'', asked Moriarty the lifeless form in his hands.

With a chuckle he started swaying to the rhythm of the music.

''Come on, love, don't be so dead!'', he cried, as he continued moving around the room, humming the rhythm along.

Moriarty could hear the soft sound of heeled boots along the corridor, outside the room.

Soon, the door opened and closed swiftly.

With delight, he saw a delicate, yet strong form, clad in a black turtleneck and black trousers, her golden hair knotted in a Dutch braid neatly, away from her pretty face.

Her big green eyes stared at the sight in front of her impassively. ''Sir.'', she nodded curtly, her voice as sweet as honey.

Her clever eyes darted around the room, landing on the cell phone.

''Sebastiana.'', he greeted with excitement, throwing the lifeless Rose Hall at her feet.

The dead woman landed with a thud and Moran looked at her and then the other body on the floor.

''Glad you could make it.''

''Always, sir.''

He smiled. ''This is the situation.'', he continued, motioning at the bodies. He turned and walked to pick his cell phone. ''How long will it take you?'', he asked and turned the music off.

''Give me an hour.''

He walked to her side, a gentle smile on his lips. ''I can always rely on you, can't I, my dear?''

''Always, sir.'', she nodded, her crystal eyes boring into his dark ones.

He nodded, tucking his hands inside his Westwood trousers. ''I should leave you to your work then. Ta-ta.''

''Good night, sir.'', she replied and heard him, leaving the room.

Moran heard him walking down the corridor outside, still humming. She pouted slightly and opened the black, bowling bag.

She then raised her sleeves.

She put on a pair of black, leather gloves and looked at her knives.

This was going to be messy…

* * *

**Note: And for the part of Moran, I've chosen Amanda Seyfried! Hope you like the change!**


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